


love in the time of coronavirus

by stonerbughead



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Betty and Jughead are Bernie Sanders supporters and it’s part of the story, Class consciousness, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Getting through the apocalypse together, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jughead/Archie and Betty/Archie brotps because I’m all about leading by example ahem writers, Medicinal Drug Use, Medium Burn, Mutual Pining, Omg they were quarantined, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, Therapy Over Zoom, aka unapologetic leftist politics, also Archie is a hypochondriac, and general critique of capitalism slash the oligarchy we call the usa, subtle lopaz hints, take it or leave it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 71,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23163619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonerbughead/pseuds/stonerbughead
Summary: “Geez, Arch,” Jughead says. “I knew you were always a hypochondriac, but this is a new level. Do you have a toilet paper stash hiding somewhere in the apartment?”“Not funny, Jug,” Archie says, his tone remaining stubbornly serious. “Betty called. I know you two came into contact with Kevin.”Jughead rolls his eyes. “It’s probably not a big deal,” he says. “We don’t even know if Fangs has it. He justmighthave it.”He starts to walk farther into the apartment but Archie shakes his head, holding out the Lysol threateningly in Jughead’s direction. “I packed you a bag,” he says, tossing him a stuffed duffle. “All your weed, flannels, and snacks are in there, I promise,” he adds, his eyes softening. “I’ll see you...on the other side of this pandemic, man.”Jughead stares incredulously. “Where exactly am I going?”“Betty’s,” Archie says matter-of-factly. “She’s offered to take you in, since you’re bothexposed.”March 2020. Twenty-something New Yorkers Betty and Jughead have no choice but to bunker down together as much of the city stays home to fight the spread of coronavirus. (A tropey take with a lot of class consciousness.)
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Veronica Lodge & Toni Topaz, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Fangs Fogarty/Kevin Keller (background), Josie McCoy/Archie Andrews (background)
Comments: 203
Kudos: 244
Collections: 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is in _no_ way making light of this global pandemic; if anything, it’s the very opposite. A lot of my friends here in nyc are too poor not to go to work and as a union staffer this is a really hard time for my members even tho i’m starting to work remotely bc i’m able to for my job function (not everyone i work with is, however!! This is a very revealing time for all of us!) If anything, i’m trying to make sense of this pandemic that is in so many ways showing us what the lack of universal healthcare/social safety set has done to our deeply unequal society. Please stay healthy everyone and vote for Bernie Sanders.
> 
> (title has no relation to the unparalleled Gabriel Garcia Marquez aside from the literal wordplay on his title.)
> 
> Also: this follows the real timeline in nyc i lived over the last week. I have the first couple chapters outlined but i think my reality will likely dictate how the story ends so uh...come along on the ride with me?

lovely moodboard by my love [literatiruinedme](https://literatiruinedme.tumblr.com/)

_isolation comes from "insula" which means island_

-moses sumney

  
  


0.

**march 9, 2020**

Betty sets her coffee mug down at her desk with a groan, shrugging off her coat and hanging it on the back of her chair. The known-to-be-creepy security guard at the front desk had taken her pause to help herself to hand sanitizer as an invitation to start a five-minute conversation and she’s already ready for this day to end.

“Happy Monday, B,” Veronica simpers from the desk across from Betty’s, wiggling her eyebrows in a telltale sign she has something juicy to discuss. 

Veronica is one of Betty’s best friends at the magazine; not only had they been in the same intern class, but the pair were the only two interns to be hired on following their program—Betty as a copyeditor and Veronica as an assistant in the social media department. Considering both were seniors at the time—Betty at NYU and Veronica at Barnard—they’d both _needed_ the news to ensure they could stay in New York after graduation. In relief, that night Betty and Veronica had gone out to celebrate and gotten entirely too drunk, solidifying their friendship for all time.

Three years later, Betty’s still a copyeditor—though she has benefited from a couple raises—and Veronica had been promoted to social media editor when her boss left a year earlier. With her new power, Veronica had elected to sit in the empty seat in Betty’s desk-cluster. It makes work just a little bit easier on days like today, when Betty’s brain already feels fried before she’s even had a chance to power her computer on. Betty rarely mentions it to her friends at work, because she doesn’t like to complain, but what she really wants is to be an investigative journalist, out in the field chasing leads and writing stories that...well, matter. Good jobs like that are few and far between, however, and Betty’s mountains of student debt continue to keep her chained to her steady copyeditor gig. 

“What’s the news this time, V?” Betty asks, leaning down to power up her desktop. A piece of gossip is the kind of welcome distraction that keeps Betty happy to see her devious deskmate every weekday morning. 

“Well, if you _must_ know,” Veronica says, standing up with her signature Barnard College mug and coming to lean against Betty’s desk. “I heard that Moose down in the mailroom is staying home for the foreseeable future in voluntary quarantine because his wife Midge…” she pauses to take a dramatic sip of coffee. “tested _positive_.”

Betty’s face morphs into concern. “For coronavirus?” she confirms, and Veronica nods sadly. “Does she have a condition that makes her more susceptible?” Betty asks in reaction to Veronica’s look. 

Veronica quickly shakes her head. “Oh, no, no,” she hastily adds. “From what I hear, it’s all mild symptoms. But the elderly and immune-compromised among us _need_ people like Midge and Moose to stay home so they don’t catch it, right?”

Betty lets out a deep breath. “Yes, exactly,” she says. “Sorry, you kinda scared me for a moment. Just...you know, we don’t know how bad this is gonna get. Moose is a nice guy…”

“I should’ve been more sensitive with my delivery, I do apologize, B,” Veronica says, placing a hand on Betty’s shoulder. Betty smiles appreciatively before picking up her own travel mug and taking grateful sips of coffee. “And my source _did_ confirm they’ve been taking all the necessary precautions in our mailroom for weeks now, so our office is safe as far as we know.” 

“Well, that’s good,” Betty says. “But it’s been fucking wild. I hear a bunch of the local colleges are thinking about moving to remote learning for awhile. And cable news is just around-the-clock footage of people hoarding toilet paper and masks and just completely panicking.”

“I know! It’s hard to know what’s even real or what’s fake when we have _Trump_ in office,” Veronica agrees, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“Y’all talking about coronavirus?” their co-worker Toni—the third person in their desk cluster—says as she arrives, dropping her bag on her chair.

“Unfortunately,” Veronica says.

“It’s hard _not_ to these days,” Betty says, and Toni nods sadly as she shrugs off her jacket.

“My grandparents are staying inside for the foreseeable future,” Toni says. “I just called them this weekend to check in.” Her arms folded across her chest, she says, “How are you two doing?”

“Alright!” Betty says. “Honestly, the memes on Twitter really helped this weekend. We _need_ humor at times like these.”

“Oh my God, I saw the _best_ meme that one of my old photography students shared,” Toni says, coming around to show her phone to Betty and Veronica, who both burst out laughing. 

Toni is a couple years older than Betty and Veronica, the longtime staff photographer at the magazine who also teaches as an adjunct at SVA. After they were hired, they’d quickly bonded with Toni when Betty had been assigned to sit right next to her.

“Well, we can’t spend all day talking about this virus,” Veronica declares when they finish swapping memes.

“Lord knows half our articles will be about it this week,” Toni says. She moves to walk back toward her desk. “Let’s check those inboxes before the morning meeting.”

“Thanks for keeping us in line, Toni,” Betty says, laughing, as she settles into her chair and does the dreaded Monday morning click on the email icon. She’s truly so grateful for Toni’s calming presence in her work life.

“Always, babes,” Toni says, giving a mock military salute as all three of them laugh and silently start digging through their inboxes.

The microwave dings and Betty removes her heated-up leftovers with a satisfied smile. “Yum,” she says as she settles beside Toni and Veronica at their usual table in the lunchroom.

“Smells good, B,” Veronica says. 

After a couple minutes of quiet eating, Veronica nudges Toni. Betty watches them suspiciously. “What’s up?”

“Oh, right,” Toni says. “I’m taking Veronica out to the lesbian bar tonight. We were gonna ask if you wanted to join us?” 

Betty smiles proudly at Veronica, who had recently come out as bisexual. Toni had jokingly referred to herself as Veronica’s “bi mother,” which Veronica eats up. (Honestly, sometimes Betty wonders if it isn’t possible Veronica is into _Toni_ , but she keeps that to herself.)

“That is a truly wonderful invitation,” Betty says. “But I sadly must decline.”

“What, are you staying in because of the…?” Veronica asks, choosing her words carefully.

Betty shakes her head. “No, no, it’s not that. It’s just...y’all know I’m a total introvert.” Her friends both nod. “So the thing is, I’m already going to Kevin’s cabaret show tomorrow night. So you’ll understand, I have to save up my social energy for tomorrow.”

Veronica and Toni both nod. “We understand, girl,” Toni says, touching Betty’s arm reassuringly. 

“I’ll come next time, I promise!” Betty adds. She thinks for a moment. “Actually, Archie’s being quite flaky about tomorrow night so if either of you want to tag along, I wouldn’t mind the company.” 

Veronica huffs. “Boo! I would _love_ to come along, B. Truly nothing I love more than a good cabaret show and your old friend Kevin is a doll,” she says.

“But?”

“But I have a hot date tomorrow night with this hunk named Reggie. We met at the coffee shop in my neighborhood, total meet-cute…”

Betty and Toni laugh. “Okay, you’re excused,” Betty says. “Toni?”

“I totally would, but I have plans with old friends tomorrow already,” Toni says, sounding genuinely disappointed. 

“No worries,” Betty says. “I’ve endured flying solo at Kevin’s cabaret shows before. All part of being a good friend.”

“Wait,” Veronica says, her eyebrows raising deviously. “What about...Jughead?”

Toni’s eyes light up as Betty’s face turns hot. “Oh, _yeah_!” Toni says. “The guy you have a total crush on, right?”

Betty rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t call it a _total_ crush,” she says.

“Ignoring that,” Veronica says. “Isn’t Jughead like, in your guys’ circle? Wouldn’t he be on the invite list?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Betty says. “He just...doesn’t usually come to something like this if Archie doesn’t. You know, me, Kevin, and Archie went to college together. We just know Jughead because Archie and Jughead are childhood best friends.”

“Rightttt,” Toni says, popping a carrot in her mouth. 

“He moved here after college,” Betty explains. “Anyway, so yeah! If Archie flakes, Jughead probably will too. But it’s okay. I will persevere!”

“That’s our girl!” Veronica says, and then Toni spots another good hand-washing meme on Instagram and they’re off on another tangent, for which Betty is eternally grateful.

Betty finally packs up her bag, powering down her computer with a satisfied sigh. “What a day,” she says.

“Have a good time!” she adds to Veronica and Toni, who are huddled around the make-up mirror Veronica keeps in her desk, reapplying lipstick for their night out.

“You know we will!” Veronica says. 

“Just not _too_ much fun,” Betty says, pointing a finger. 

“Okay, mom,” Toni chirps.

Betty laughs. “See you two tomorrow!”

Betty emerges from the building into the unseasonably warm night to find that the streets of New York City are just a little slower than usual. But as she walks to the subway, her music blaring from her headphones, she manages to forget about the coronavirus chatter that had dominated their social media feeds and articles and conversations all day long. Huddles of people stand outside crowded bars smoking cigarettes and laughing; the subway she eventually boards is still packed pretty tightly with tired commuters. People might be cautiously preparing for the worst, but New York City is still very much the living, breathing mess of a thing that Betty has come to love. 

Little does Betty know that by the end of the week, so much will have changed. 

1.

**march 12, 2020**

It’s a weird time to work in publishing. Or maybe it’s just a weird time to work in...well, anything. Jughead trudges up the stairs of he and Archie’s third-floor walk-up at an extra slow pace. The day had been, to say the least, exhausting. As an assistant, he’d spent much of the day fielding calls from their panicked authors and freelancers, all trying to guarantee their income wouldn’t be cut off. (How to tell them that as a non-unionized, at-will assistant, he was worried about the exact same thing?)

Meanwhile, around them, New York City kicked coronavirus response into overdrive. The news came in throughout the day, literally changing by the hour: museums and concert halls announcing their closures; the governor issuing a ban on gatherings of over 500 people, forcing Broadway to officially close its doors for the next month. From the expressions on the faces of his co-workers who were veteran New Yorkers, he saw that the iconic Broadway theaters going dark seemed to signal something very serious to everyone. Rumors flew around the office all day about the MTA shutting down, that the NYPD was surely readying to close off streets. 

The publisher sent a staffwide email around 2 PM, assuring everyone that IT would be coming around to install VPNs “just in case” the office needed to begin working remotely. But they could all see it: leadership behind closed doors almost all day, clearly readying the business for the worst. Throughout the course of the day, the situation had changed from a matter of “if” to a matter of “when.” It was, to say the least, surreal.

What was even more surreal was receiving a text from Betty late in the afternoon while Jughead was sitting at his desk, waiting for IT to get to him so he could finally go home. His stomach immediately warmed at her name on his iPhone screen, the way it always did. Ever since he had moved to New York, Archie’s college best friend had become a normal fixture in his life. For about that same amount of time, he had harbored an intense crush on her; with her tight, blonde ponytail, biting wit, and their mutual love of mysteries and politics, she was nothing short of his dreamgirl. 

**BETTY:** Hi! Crazy day, huh? There’s no easy way to say this...it seems Fangs’ closest co-worker tested positive for coronavirus. Fangs has like, very mild symptoms but they’re waiting for him to get approval to get tested. Fucking capitalist bureacracy, am i right? Call me if you wanna talk more, but since we saw and touched Kevin Tuesday night...not sure what this means for us? 

Jughead read and reread the text multiple times, interrupted by Dilton from IT finally reaching him with a worn expression and genuine apology before he could compose a response. After Dilton finished installing his VPN, Jughead read the final all-staff email from leadership— _watch your emails closely for updates on when work from home will begin_ —and finally packed up with an exhausted sigh.

Now, standing outside his apartment door, Jughead realizes he never replied to Betty. He just needs a blunt and some pizza. Then he’ll give Betty a call and they can figure out what to do about this Kevin and Fangs situation calmly and rationally. 

Instead, Jughead unlocks the door to find Archie wearing a surgical mask and medical-grade gloves, wielding a bottle of Lysol like it’s an AR-15. 

“Geez, Arch,” Jughead says. “I knew you were always a hypochondriac, but this is a new level. Do you have a toilet paper stash hiding somewhere in the apartment?”

“Not funny, Jug,” Archie says, his tone remaining stubbornly serious. “Betty called. I know you two came into contact with Kevin.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “It’s probably not a big deal,” he says. “We don’t even know if Fangs has it. He just _might_ have it.”

He starts to walk farther into the apartment but Archie shakes his head, holding out the Lysol threateningly in Jughead’s direction. “I packed you a bag,” he says, tossing him a stuffed duffle. “All your weed, flannels, and snacks are in there, I promise,” he adds, his eyes softening. “I’ll see you...on the other side of this pandemic, man.”

Jughead stares incredulously. “Where exactly am I going?”

“Betty’s,” Archie says matter-of-factly. “She’s offered to take you in, since you’re both _exposed._ ” 

The term is so medical and foreign coming out of Archie’s mouth, and the little detail seems to sober Jughead instantly to the reality of the time they’re currently living in. A time in which a spur-of-the-moment decision to attend Kevin’s cabaret show was enough to banish him from his apartment for an undetermined amount of time. (Had Jughead’s decision to attend said show been influenced by the possibility of alone time with Betty? He’d rather not think about that.)

Archie practically slams the door behind Jughead and he stands in the hallway for a moment, dumbfounded. He stoops down to rummage through the duffle, grateful to see that Archie had lived up to his word and packed all the essentials. 25 years of friendship helps with that. (They will also help Jughead eventually forgive Archie for kicking him out of his own apartment so unceremoniously.)

Zipping the duffle back up and slinging it over his shoulder to join his work bag, Jughead finally starts walking back down the stairs. He still can’t believe this is happening. Earlier this week, everyone was still just washing their hands with increased frequency and cautiously stocking up on canned soup, monitoring new cases on the news but assuming that any widespread closures would take a bit longer to come in. Even Archie, a legendary hypochondriac, hadn’t started freaking out until that Wednesday, when he’d refused to come into work, telling his boss he was voluntarily self-quarantining until further notice, his Tuesday night date with one Josie McCoy seemingly his last venture out into the world until the virus passes.

Today had been some sort of unofficial tipping point for the city, and in a matter of hours almost every major institution had made announcements on closures and cancellations and interruptions in service. Jughead can’t remember another time in his relatively young life when things had changed so rapidly in so little time. After all, he’d only been a New Yorker for about three years—he hadn’t lived through 9/11 or the 2003 blackout—instances he’d heard his more seasoned coworkers hearken back to today as IT came around to prepare them for remote work.

Jughead finally emerges onto the Brooklyn streets and sighs in confusion at the warm air that hits him. The strange thing about this week is that the weather has been relatively nice for this time of year. It makes everything somehow even more apocalyptic, a stark reminder that their society is both unprepared for a global pandemic _and_ for the looming threat of climate change. Lovely.

Jughead puts his headphones back in, queuing his playlist up before starting in the direction of Betty’s apartment. She only lives a ten-minute bus ride or a twenty-minute walk from him and Archie. Given the excellent weather and the fact that he will apparently be trapped inside for the foreseeable future, Jughead opts to walk.

The twenty minutes could also be useful for Jughead to adjust to the fact that he will be alone with Betty in her little studio apartment for...who knows how long. His stomach drops at the thought of what they might do to pass the time. He feels like a perv over where his mind naturally seems to go...but then again, there have been plenty of times in the past three years that he’s caught Betty staring at him just a little too long. Sometimes he wonders if his feelings for Betty aren’t entirely unrequited. 

Something had always kept him from making a move though. He’d met Betty a couple times back when he came to visit Archie at NYU, standing around with red cups at parties or pregaming in Archie’s dorm room. In those days, he’d always found her entirely too entrancing to even consider her an actual romantic interest. Permanently out of his league. 

But on the day he made the move to the city after college and was greeted by Archie, Betty, and Kevin, wearing work-out clothes and fully ready to help him haul his boxes up three flights of stairs, Betty became a real person to him. And everything he had learned about her in the three years since then had only made him like her more and more. Jughead gulps as he passes the mural he always counts as the halfway mark to Betty’s apartment, remembering how good Betty had looked Tuesday night. How close they’d been swaying to Kevin’s performance, the smile on Betty’s face as she focused entirely on Jughead while they talked and waited for Kevin to come on, that one moment after Kev’s set when he’d wondered...

Well, one thing’s for certain: based on how close he and Betty had been to each other on Tuesday night, if even just one of them had been infected by Kevin, they could both have it.

* * *

_**march 10, 2020** _

**__** _Betty’s eyes dart quickly around to make sure no one nearby is looking at her before adjusting her boobs in the low-cut blue sequined bodysuit she’s wearing tucked into super-high-waisted black pants. Even flying solo, she likes to dress for the occasion when Kevin performs._

_He’s held this slot at his favorite queer bar’s variety show in Bushwick for almost a year now, and she’s proud of him. Betty always remembers the early days of Kevin starting to perform: practicing in his freshman dorm room, then the apartment she and Kevin and Archie shared for the majority of their undergrad, passing blunts on the fire escape and laughing over beers as Kevin perfected his show tune repertoire. He’s come a long way, and there’s nothing like getting to watch her best friend completely in his element. Especially on nights like tonight, when Kevin’s longtime boyfriend Fangs has been scheduled to work and can’t show up to support._

_Betty nurses her first beer, leaning over one of the two-tops. She’s been trying to avoid a group in the opposite corner; a couple of them had been coughing openly and not into their elbow, as the CDC generally advises._ Where were these people even raised? Basic etiquette, folks! _Betty huffs and looks down at her phone again, waiting for Archie to text her back. Annoyingly, he still hasn’t confirmed if he’ll be gracing them with his presence tonight._

_Only a few minutes and most of Betty’s first beer later, the text comes in._

_**ARCHIE:** Send Kev my best; I’m going on a date with Josie McCoy and I just can’t pass a girl like that up! I’ll be there next time, love you both! _

_Betty rolls her eyes but she can’t help but grin. Josie McCoy is an up-and-coming R &B singer at the record label where Archie works as an assistant. He’s been gushing about Josie ever since she signed with them but none of them had believed Archie would actually land a date with her. _

_Betty toys with the idea of texting Jughead. Archie’s insane luck as an assistant has become a growing joke between the two of them. Despite his low stature in the hierarchy of the music biz, over the past couple years Archie has continually come home to announce to the group that he’d snagged VIP passes to long-sold-out shows or dates with surprisingly major pop acts at booked-up restaurants. Every time, Betty and Jughead turn to each other, laugh, and say the same line: “Only Archie Andrews.”_

_Betty bites her lip, unlocking her phone and mentally composing a text draft to Jughead. But before she can even start typing, she spots Jughead in the crowd, pushing through the growing mass of bodies in her direction. Her face flushes with pleasant surprise. She really had assumed that if Archie ditched for a date, Jughead would bail too...he tended to be a bit of an introvert, which was one of the reasons she’d always been so drawn to him. While she’d been fully prepared to stand alone until Kevin finished his set, Betty can’t help but get excited at the knowledge that of all their friends,_ Jughead _will be her company tonight._

_“Hey! I’m surprised to see you!” Betty calls loudly over the music when Jughead finally reaches her. He grins, accepting the hug she throws around his shoulders._

_When they pull back, he says, “Surprised?”_

_“Well, I know Archie isn’t coming,” Betty explains._

_“Ah yes, big date with the one and only Josie McCoy,” Jughead says._

_“Only Archie Andrews,” they add at the same time before bursting out laughing._

_“Jinx! Buy me a beer?” Betty says, grinning mischievously as she downs the last of her Heineken._

_Jughead’s eyes trail over her outfit momentarily and Betty shivers pleasantly. “I think that can be arranged,” Jughead says._

_He leads the two of them toward the bar and Betty grabs onto his hand when they almost lose each other in the crowd, tingling at the electricity she always feels when they touch. As a guy practically knocks into her, Betty has the momentary thought that being in such close quarters with so many people at this time feels...kinda weird. This might have to be her last night out for awhile. At least, until this virus passes._

_At the bar, Jughead orders them both drinks while they joke some more about Archie’s date. They amble back in the direction of the two-tops and manage to find a half-empty table to lean against as they wait for the next act to come on._

_“Which slot did Kevin get tonight?” Jughead asks._

_“Third to last,” Betty says. “Not too bad. I think there are two more, then Kev.”_

_“So,” Jughead says, leaning forward a bit and letting some of the weight drop from his shoulders. “How’s work been for you this week?”_

_“A little crazy, to be honest,” Betty says. “There have been so many rumors in the office, which is pretty sad considering we’re a_ magazine _and half our articles this week so far involve actual_ facts _about the coronavirus situation. But people seem to change in a crisis, huh?”_

_Jughead nods thoughtfully, playing with the label on his beer. “Or maybe it’s the opposite,” he says. “Like, in times like these, when people’s backs are against the wall, I think they show us who they really are_ — _the good and the bad.”_

_Betty’s expression softens. Another moment when she finds it hard to resist grabbing Jughead’s face and pulling him into a kiss. “You’re completely right,” she says instead. “You have such a way with words, Jug.”_

_Jughead blushes, both of them knowing it’s a subtle reference to the novel Jughead’s been slowly writing since he graduated from undergrad. His novelist dreams are something he doesn’t talk about with many people besides Betty_ — _he’d told her so, once when they were both pretty high on the couch, Archie passed out on the chair opposite them. It had been one of the many moments over the past couple years when Betty wondered to herself,_ does he feel it too? _But, like in all of those moments, something interrupted them_ — _this time, a particularly loud Archie snore_ — _and snapped them back into the careful dance of “just friends” in which they stubbornly remained._

_“Anyway,” Jughead says, clearing his throat. “I guess this should probably be our last night out for awhile?”_

_Betty nods, laughing. “I was thinking the same thing earlier,” she says. And then, in a joking tone: “Whatever will we do?”_

_“This is honestly the moment us introverts have been preparing for our whole lives,” Jughead agrees._

_“Right?” Betty says, giggling. “We practically self-quarantine ourselves every weekend already.” They both laugh at that._

_The next act comes on and they both settle into polite silence as they listen to an impassioned rendition of “I Know Where I’ve Been” from one of the bar’s regular drag queens. When the singer finishes a few songs later, Jughead offers to grab them another round while Betty holds the table and she smiles, watching him walk away with a giddy joy. Hanging out with him is always so natural and easy._

_He returns, handing her a beer and saying, “Okay, I say we’ve covered as much coronavirus talk as we need to tonight. We are young and interesting humans. Let’s talk about something else.”_

_Betty grins, holding her beer bottle out. “I’ll cheers to that.”_

_They clink bottles and take generous sips. As they wait for the queer comedian who always precedes Kevin to come on, they opt to talk about other things. Jughead asks if she’s been watching a true crime documentary she’d mentioned last time she came to his and Archie’s apartment, and they’re off on a tangent._

_They both cheer loudly when Kevin finally makes his way onto the stage, wearing an amazing pink jumpsuit and thick, glittery eyeliner. “I think we all need some camp tonight,” Kevin says and everyone in the bar cheers. “So I’m gonna switch it up and sing a couple songs from my favorite campy musical.”_

_Betty whoops loudly before anyone else does and Jughead shoots her a questioning look. “Legally Blonde,” she mouths at the same time that Kevin yells, “Legally Blonde!”_

_As the opening notes of “Omigod You Guys” plays, Jughead groans and Betty giggles. “Have a heart, Jughead,” she says, bumping her shoulder against his as she sways to the song. Jughead locks eyes with her briefly before joining her in swaying, silently agreeing to surrender._

_When Kevin finishes a couple songs later, the crowd is deafening. Betty couldn't be more proud. In her excitement and screaming (honestly, her voice will definitely be hoarse tomorrow but worth it) she manages to almost trip in her heels. Her little shriek stops in her throat when she feels strong arms catch her. She looks up to find Jughead’s concerned face staring back at her._

_“You okay?” he mouths, and Betty swears Jughead’s eyes flicker to her lips next._

_She finds herself practically mesmerized by his lips, by the fact that they’ve never been this close before._ I could do it right now. _It would be so easy to reach up, hook her hands around his chin and pull him down to close the small gap between their faces, to finally get lost in the man she’s been thinking about for years._ I don’t think he’d pull away.

_But before she can gather the nerve, Kevin’s there and Jughead’s setting Betty down onto her feet, making sure she’s okay before letting her go completely. Betty hopes she doesn’t visibly wince at the loss. Then Kevin is gathering her up in a hug and she’s singing his praises and Jughead’s off to fulfill Kevin’s request to grab a round of celebratory shots and once again, the moment has passed._

* * *

In an attempt to look as casual and cute as possible for Jughead’s impending arrival, Betty has probably switched positions on her couch about— _I don’t know, fifteen times?_ —since Archie had called her a few minutes earlier and said in a weirdly robotic voice, “Jughead’s flown the coop. Headed your way. ETA undetermined.”

Betty couldn’t help but laugh. “Arch, you okay there? You sound like some propagandized version of a military commander.”

Archie’s response was a deep sigh. “You and Jughead just don’t _get it,_ ” he said before hanging up. _Well, then._

Jughead and Archie both have spare keys to her apartment in case of emergency and Betty had immediately texted Jughead to use it, so she isn’t surprised when Jug lets himself in a couple minutes later, panting as he drops the bags he’d been carrying in the doorway. He pulls his sherpa jacket off and shuts the door behind him. “It’s _way_ too hot out there,” he says, fanning his face with his hand and trying to catch his breath.

Betty laughs, standing up and bringing his bags into the living room area of her studio, where Jughead will be sleeping. Although her apartment is really a glorified single room, she’s managed to decorate so that there’s a distinct dining area between her kitchenette and living room set-up, a curtain that cordons off her “bedroom.” She’s always been a fan of boundaries. 

“Please help yourself to a glass of water,” Betty says to a still-panting Jughead, who nods appreciatively and heads to the cabinet where she keeps the cups and mugs.

Betty looks around her apartment nervously, realizing this is the first time she’s ever had to share her space with someone for an extended period of time since moving in. Having a studio apartment in Brooklyn to herself on her salary has always been something she has to explain to new friends. Technically, her cousin Cheryl Blossom is her landlord. The Blossom side of Betty’s family is notoriously wealthy in a way that has always dumbfounded Betty considering her own lower-middle-class upbringing. Both her parents are union reporters at a county paper; they’d always done okay, but as a result Betty grew up on a routine of strict budgeting and, of course, had been forced to take out sizable loans to attend her dream school. (As an adult, she occasionally wonders if she’d made the wrong choice not to just attend a state school.) But the right choice or not, in a way it had landed her this apartment. 

Cheryl and Betty had grown close in high school and when Betty had chosen to attend NYU, Cheryl declared that she must acquire property in New York so she could visit Betty whenever she wanted. Cheryl had listened to Betty’s pleading and settled for purchasing a Brooklyn studio insteading of the Chelsea penthouse she’d originally had her sights set on—and had made good use of it throughout Betty’s college years. When Betty graduated and found out that not only would Kevin be moving in with his boyfriend Fangs but that Archie had accepted his childhood friend Jughead’s invitation to move in together, she asked Cheryl if she could pay rent to live in the little studio. And the rest was history.

Betty returns to the couch, watching with an amused look as in the kitchen Jughead gulps down a full glass of water alarmingly fast before refilling it. Breathing out, Jughead smiles at Betty and comes to join her on the couch.

“You okay?” Betty says amusedly and he smirks as he nods.

“Yes, yes,” Jughead says. “That walk winded me more than I thought it would—the duffle Archie packed was heavier than expected.” He sighs exaggeratedly. “I had the _perfect_ opening line too.”

Betty grins. “Oh, now you _have_ to tell me.”

“Okay, okay,” Jughead concedes. “But please, try to imagine a less-sweaty version of me opening your door, dropping my bags gracefully, and then, very suave-like”—Betty giggles and Jughead swats at her arm in retaliation—“as I was _saying_ , very suave-like, I say, ‘I come bearing weed and snacks.’”

Betty bursts out laughing again. “ _That’s_ your line?”

Jughead looks sheepish but stubborn. “Yes.”

“Okay, okay, it’s pretty good,” Betty concedes. “And it’s very in line with my next question for you: would you be down to order a pizza?”

“Betty Cooper,” Jughead says, a reverent look crossing his face that makes Betty blush. “How do you read my mind? Yes, please.”

“I’m on it,” Betty says, opening the delivery app. “I have a bunch of cash, we’ll tip well. Scary time to be in food service.”

“While you take care of that, I’ll take care of the weed,” Jughead says, stooping down to find the pre-rolled joints he knows are in his stash bag that Archie packed for him.

“Bless you,” Betty says, not looking up from her phone. “And done! Thirty minute guaranteed delivery. During a pandemic? God, we live in a dystopia.”

Jughead laughs, bringing a lighter to the tip of a joint and handing it off to Betty. “Smoke about it.”

Betty looks adoringly at the joint before taking in a huge hit. “Thank you so much,” she says after exhaling, laughing as she coughs.

“Thank _you_ ,” Jughead counters. “For letting me stay on such short notice. I really hope I’m not cramping your space, like I know it’s a small apartment. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize Archie would freak like that.”

Betty gives him an incredulous look. “Really? I did. He was crazy like that pretty much every time _any_ of us got the least bit sick in college,” she says. “I’m honestly surprised he only started self-quarantining Wednesday. Seems behind the ball for him.”

Jughead laughs. “I was thinking about that too on the walk over here,” he says. “If anything, it goes to show how quickly the situation has evolved in New York. Archie was only, what, three days ahead of the curve?”

“So true,” Betty says. “Has your job switched to work-from-home yet?”

“Nope, not officially,” Jughead says. “But it’s any day now, we’re supposed to keep an eye on our email. You?”

“Pretty much same,” Betty says, sighing. She pauses to take a hit of the joint he’s just passed her. “So.” She breathes out deeply. “What do you think we should do about this...Kevin and Fangs situation?”

“So, let me get this straight,” Jughead says, pausing to take another hit as Betty nods and sits up straighter on the couch in an effort to get serious. “Fangs has mild symptoms and contact with a person who tested positive for coronavirus.”

Betty nods. “Yep. And because they’ve put all these restrictions and parameters around who can test—you know, since we _don’t have enough tests_ —Fangs is basically in a waiting game now to find out if he has it. And in the meantime, his doctor has advised that he and Kevin voluntarily self-quarantine and tell anyone they’ve had physical contact with since basically Monday to do the same.” 

“We both hugged Kevin on Tuesday,” Jughead confirms.

“Yes, yes we did,” Betty says. “I also believe he kissed you on the cheek after your second round of shots.”

Jughead rubs his head. “Ah, you’re right. That did happen.”

They both let out nervous laughs. What else to do but laugh at a time like this? 

“Not to be invasive…” Jughead says when he speaks again. “But...do you have any symptoms?”

“ _Jughead_ ,” Betty says, giving him a look of disbelief. “While we’re stuck here quarantined together, I really don’t think _that_ qualifies as an invasive question.”

Jughead laughs. “You’re right. But, I don’t know, it feels weird! This time is weird! Ah!” He takes another big hit to emphasize his point.

“It is,” Betty agrees, laughing. “But no, I haven’t noticed any symptoms myself. Aside from a bit of a stuffed nose, but it felt like the usual allergy symptoms I get whenever the weather starts to change like this.”

“Same!” Jughead says. “Plus, it’s hard to tell because we’re all just so hyper-aware of our respiratory symptoms right now.”

“Exactly!” Betty says, giggling. “Ugh. Well, there’s also the fact that you apparently can be asymptomatic and still be a carrier. So, I guess it really is just safest for everyone if we just stay inside until at least Fangs can get tested. Right?”

Jughead nods, both of them silently thinking through the situation they’re now in. “Yeah,” he finally agrees. “I think you’re right, Betty. I guess we really are stuck here together for awhile.”

Betty laughs. “We should probably tell our jobs we won’t be in tomorrow at some point.”

“Yes, yes we should,” Jughead says. “After this pizza. I need it to revive me.”

“Agreed. Are you...good to work from home tomorrow?”

“Oh yeah, they set me up with a VPN today,” Jughead says. “You?”

“Same. I do have some physical files I wish I had. Since I didn’t know about Fangs’ condition till after I left work, I didn’t take them,” Betty says, sighing. “A problem for tomorrow.”

The joint is almost down to a roach now and Betty’s stomach rumbles. She hopes the pizza arrives soon. “Sooo, you brought snacks?”

“Whatever Archie grabbed from my part of the pantry, I assume,” Jughead says. “How about you? I assume you’re stocked up.”

Betty shrugs. She’d actually been trying to exercise so much calm this week that she hadn’t done much more than her usual grocery shopping. “I definitely have a decent amount of food...I _think_ ,” she admits. “But hey, we could always do a run to the bodega or the grocery store around the block if we needed to.”

Jughead nods. “Definitely. No need to freak out.”

Betty smiles appreciatively at him. They take final hits on the roach before putting it out in Betty’s ashtray and settling into a comfortable silence as they both scroll through Instagram.

Jughead laughs cynically and Betty turns to give him an amused look. “Sharing is caring,” she sing-songs and he turns his phone toward her, nudging over closer to her on the couch. 

It’s a video of Jughead and Archie’s old friend Sweet Pea, who works as a server in Manhattan, sitting on the half-full subway and talking about how he still has to go in to work. “They told us yesterday that if we get sick, we should stay home but we’re not gonna get paid for it if we do,” Sweet Pea says from his Instagram story. “So, like, I don’t _think_ anyone in my job is sick, but if they become sick, it almost _certainly_ will spread to all of us. You know how it is, no one got money to call out. Anyway, look how sick this empty subway is! I got a seat and everything!”

Betty and Jughead both laugh at Sweet Pea’s always-sardonic humor. 

“Stay healthy everyone, see you later!” Sweet Pea says on the video and it ends.

Betty shakes her head. “That is _so_ fucked up,” she says.

“And it’s honestly the reality for so many low-wage workers in the city,” Jughead says.

Betty’s about to open her mouth to agree when the doorbell rings. “The pizza, finally!” Betty says, running to let the delivery-person in.

The kind man who answers the door holds the bag out at as far of a distance as he can manage, and Betty shoots him a warm smile before pushing a $20 bill into his hand. “Thank you so much,” she says. “Take care of yourself.”

“That delivery man really put the _distance_ in social distancing,” Jughead jokes from the couch and Betty “pffts” as she locks the door behind her.

“That’s your one freebie,” she says to Jughead, who stands up to join Betty in the kitchen. He accepts the plates Betty hands him as she flounces around the kitchen grabbing napkins and spices. 

“Well,” Betty says as she finally tucks in across from Jughead. “Welcome to our at-home office for the foreseeable future.”

Jughead laughs. “It has a certain charm to it,” he jokes. 

They fall into a content silence as they both devour their slices gratefully. 

“Sorry,” Betty says when she’s halfway through her second slice. “It’s just been a...day. A week, really.”

“No need to apologize,” Jughead says. “I feel the same way. Speaking of which…” he dabs his chin with a napkin. “Maybe we should get this whole telling-our-bosses thing over with earlier in the evening rather than later?”

Betty points her slice in his direction approvingly. “You have a point, Jug,” she says. “I do feel sober enough to handle this.” 

She gets up and grabs their laptops from the coffee table so they can both fire off email updates to their supervisors. Betty’s editor calls her cell phone within minutes and Betty rolls her eyes. 

“I’ll take this in the bathroom,” she says. “Ethel has a certain…”

“No need to explain more,” Jughead says, remembering Betty’s horrifying boss from the one time he and Archie had picked Betty up from work before a concert.

“Hey, Ethel,” Betty says sweetly when the door to the bathroom shuts behind her.

“Thanks for letting me know right away, Betty,” Ethel says, skipping pleasantries in her usual intense voice. 

“No problem,” Betty says. “So is the company okay with me working from home, at least until my friend hears back on his status?”

“Of course,” Ethel says quickly. “No one understands the need to prevent this virus more than I.”

Betty bites her lip to hide her laugh, trying not to think about how indignant Ethel had looked in the coronavirus safety presentation she’d given in the office a week earlier. _Damn, that joint._ “Of course,” she says.

“Trev already installed your VPN, right?” Ethel asks in a suggestive voice. Betty rolls her eyes; it’s a running joke around her office that the head IT technician has a hopeless crush on her. A very much _unreciprocated_ crush. (After all, Betty’s been in love with Jughead practically the entire time she’s worked at the magazine. But none of them know that.)

“Yes, ma’am,” Betty says. “I should be good to start working from home tomorrow.”

“Great,” Ethel says. “I expect you ready to answer calls and emails at 9 AM tomorrow as usual.”

“Will do!” Betty says, trying to sound chirpy so this call can end sooner rather than later.

“Take care of yourself, Betty,” Ethel says. “Good night.”

Betty sighs in relief, fixing her hair in the mirror and then finally coming back out to find that Jughead has thrown out all their trash and is now sitting at the kitchen table scrolling through Twitter on his laptop.

He looks up when she enters the room. “How’d it go with _Ethel_?” he says, grinning.

“She’s annoying as ever, but it went well,” Betty says, returning to her seat opposite him. “How about your boss?”

“He called too while you were in there,” he replies. “It was a _much_ shorter conversation but he’s good with the plan to stay home till after Fangs’ test.”

“You know, we should probably text Kevin and Fangs about that tomorrow,” Betty says. “Just find out what’s going on with that whole...thing.”

Jughead laughs, nodding. “Agreed. Put it on the to-do list.” Jughead continues to scrolling through Twitter, soon letting out an annoyed hiss.

“What happened now?” Betty teases.

“Just a news clip of union nurses testifying about how they’re not being provided the correct equipment to safely deal with the influx of coronavirus patients! You know how it is in the good ol’ U S of A,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“Ugh!” Betty says. “It’s not even just the medical workers and delivery drivers and waiters like Sweet Pea. It’s so many essential workers! All the people who keep the subway running, the retail workers and sanitation workers and the people working in all the grocery stores that are getting absolutely _slammed_.”

“And a lot of them don’t have paid leave!” Jughead agrees. “Lucky if they have healthcare if they do get sick. And everyone’s wages are so low that no one has savings to speak of.”

“Exactly!” Betty takes a deep breath, gearing up to make another point when both she and Jughead’s phones ding. 

**BERNIE 2020:** Bernie is about to speak about his coronavirus plan. Paid leave. Free medical care. No evictions. Tune in to hear the speech NOW.

Betty and Jughead look down at the identical texts on their phones and then back at each other.

“Oh, thank God,” Jughead says, making Betty laugh. 

She and Jughead had almost immediately bonded over their near-identical politics when he’d moved to New York. Jughead had grown up in a union family too, his dad a construction worker and his mom a nurse, and they’d quickly connected over their more radical roots.

“That’ll make us feel better! Bernie can yell for us!” Betty says.

Jughead chuckles. “That’s the spirit, Betts!” (They’re both monthly Bernie contributors; when Bernie Sanders came to Queens for his big rally last October, Betty and Jughead had gone together. It had been one of Betty’s favorite days with him ever.)

Betty runs toward the couch, Jughead closely following with his laptop, which he quickly opens to the link in the text. They smile when they see they haven’t missed it yet. Betty reaches over to her side-table to pull out her bong and grinder. “Any interest in a bowl?”

“Absolutely,” Jughead says, grinning as Betty packs the bowl and passes him the bong.

They both exhale smoke on their screams of joy when Bernie Sanders finally comes on screen. “That’s our boy!” Jughead yells, and Betty laughs freely. 

They’re both sitting forward on the couch, passing the bong back and forth but otherwise concentrated on everything Bernie has to say. After all the frustrations of this chaotic and at times terrifying week, it’s so refreshing to hear someone poised to be in a position of power actually saying the things they want and need to hear.

“Our country is facing a medical and economic crisis the likes of which we’ve not seen in generations,” Bernie says.

“And for which we are wholly unprepared!” Betty says. 

“Our response _must_ meet the enormous scale of this pandemic,” Bernie continues. “Now is the time for solidarity–”

“YES!” Betty and Jughead both scream, pumping their fists in the air, Betty taking care to steady the bong in her grip. 

“If our neighbor or co-worker gets sick, we have the potential to get sick,” Bernie says.

“Exactly!” Jughead yells.

“If our neighbors lose their jobs, then our local economies suffer, and we may lose our jobs. It is at this moment that we must remember that we are all in this together,” Bernie says.

“Oh, fuck yeah! Socialism anyone?” Betty shrieks, handing Jughead the bong as she jumps up and down in her excited energy.

“Hey,” Jughead says, looking away from the screen for a moment.

Betty smiles, feeling that her face is flushed with passion as she locks eyes with him. “Yeah?”

“It’s kind of weird to do this without Archie in the background asking us to change the channel every five seconds, huh?” he says, an adorable grin covering his face.

Betty bites her lip, realizing she could quickly become accustomed to a scenario in which the two of them could do this all the time sans-Archie. _Don’t get me wrong, I love my best friend. But he can’t co-exist with me the way...Jughead can_ , she thinks.

But this thought is too big and life-changing to share right now and Jughead is looking at her expectantly for a response with a grin on his face. “It’s kind of nice, actually,” she finally replies, blushing. “He’s not telling us to quiet down when we get excited.”

“Like the night AOC won her upset primary victory! He was so mad at how loud we were,” Jughead says and Betty bursts out laughing, remembering that night well. She’d ended up crashing on Jughead and Archie’s couch because she and Jughead had stayed up far too late rolling victory joints and waxing poetic about all the opportunities having such a progressive congresswoman representing Queens would give them.

When the address finally ends, Betty and Jughead are both pleasantly stoned and it’s nearly 10 PM.

“What a fucking day,” Jughead says, collapsing back on the couch.

“Seriously,” Betty says, joining him in leaning back and slumping toward him. “Things really went from 0 to 100 this week, huh?”

“Tomorrow’s gonna be the weirdest Friday ever,” Jughead agrees. 

They sit in silence for a couple minutes, Betty wrestling with whether to verbalize the thoughts that are coming to her head. _Fuck it, Betty. Fuck it, fuck it._ So Betty says softly, “I’m kind of glad to not be alone in all this, though.” Her voice shakes a little at first but then more confidently she explains, “You know, living alone has been great the last few years, but it’s hard in moments like this to be alone with my thoughts. So in a weird way, thanks for being here.”

Jughead grins back at her and Betty realizes she’d been subconsciously averting her eyes, nervous about how he would react. “You’re very welcome,” he says. “In a weird way, I’m glad I’m here too. You’re not busy disinfecting every surface like Archie would be. And you…”

“What?” Betty asks, leaning toward him, her stomach pinching with excitement. _Could this be it?_

“You just...feel the same way as me about like, work and politics and stuff,” Jughead finishes, his voice sounding the most stoned he has all night. “No one I’d rather be in a quarantine with.” 

He blushes after he says that last bit, and Betty lets the words sit in the air, running them around in her head over and over again to get a feel for them. _No one I’d rather be in a quarantine with._

A deep yawn betrays her though, and it seems like a sign to table this discussion for another day. After all, the only thing they have for certain ahead of them is time. Lots and lots of it.

Betty stands up, stretching her arms over her head. “I should get to bed I think,” she says. “You know, fuel up for our big first work-from- home day.”

Jughead chuckles, still just making himself more and more comfortable on the couch.

“I’m glad you look so comfy in your new bed,” Betty says, giggling at the image of him nestling into her couch. “I was worried you’d think it was too lumpy. That’s what Cheryl always says when she comes to stay. Then she inevitably jumps into bed with me.”

Jughead laughs, his eyes adorably half-open. “I’m not a maple syrup heiress, Betty. Lumpy beds are comfortable to me.”

Betty bursts out laughing at that. “Okay, Jug,” she says. “I _am_ gonna go grab you some extra blankets and pillows though.” 

She rummages in her linen closet and returns with a fuzzy blanket, a sheet, and two pillows. Jughead happily accepts them, adjusting the blankets around his body. “You’re too good to me, Betty Cooper,” he murmurs sleepily and Betty tries not to overthink how turned-on the very sound is to her ears.

“I’m gonna just quickly brush my teeth, then the bathroom’s all yours. You need anything else?”

“I’m good, but thanks,” Jughead murmurs. “Good night, Betts.”

“Night,” Betty murmurs before disappearing into the bathroom and then into the corner where her bed is. She breathes in deep and draws the curtains around her bedroom area. 

After changing into her pajamas, she finally settles into bed. Jughead has clearly returned to the couch and she can hear his soft and gentle breathing even through that transparent barrier her curtain has become.

This is the one time she’s ever regretted a boundary she’s created. Because part of her would love to catch even a glimpse of Jughead bathed in moonlight, his chest rising and falling as he surrenders to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anddddd that’s chapter 1! BTW: all the Bernie Sanders text comes from either a text I received from the Bernie campaign or Bernie’s Twitter. I can’t actually remember if Bernie had an address on Thursday specifically, but he’s had a few over the past week so this is semi-accurate. I really am tryna make this feel like this week felt for me, but make it romantic Bughead tropes, and I hope this gives y’all as much solace in this dark time as it’s given me so far. Let me know what you thought; your comments always keep me going and make my anxious, depressed soul feel all warm and fuzzy inside. 
> 
> Love, Maria


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Friday in NYC was wild, y’all. It rained so hard in the morning and then in the afternoon, sun came bursting through the clouds. When I left work—saying “see you when I see you” to all my co-workers as we parted to work remotely until further notice—it was 60-something degrees and I was hot in my peacoat and I remember thinking, “how fucking apocalyptic can this get?” because the streets of Hell’s Kitchen were way too empty. 
> 
> Anyway, I say all this because I was careful to include the same weather to set the ~vibe~
> 
> Thanks for all the wonderful feedback on this fic! Hope y'all enjoy this second chapter!

2.

**march 13, 2020**

The new day comes with a vengeance, rain pounding against the pavement and gathering in angry droplets against the windows, those very same windows out of which New York City’s residents would soon be gazing longingly.

As an anxious person, Betty tries to stick to her routine: _wake up, take your meds, pee._ There’s a little window in her bathroom and after washing her hands she finds herself staring out of it, watching the rain pelt down in sheets. It does nothing to quell the dozen or so worries that have popped into her head since she woke up ten minutes earlier. But it could be nice—she concludes, re-tucking her hand towel around the rack for something to do with her nervous hands—to have a little background noise on this first work-from-home day.

She steps gingerly out of the bathroom, peering across the room to see that Jughead is still fast asleep, looking peaceful under the mountain of blankets she’d bequeathed him. It’s 8 AM, so still a full hour till she has to log on for the day. _But wouldn’t that be_ so _much better with pancakes?_ This is truly the curse of having a studio apartment.

Realizing how much she needs coffee, Betty decides to take the situation as a challenge. She’s always pushing the limits of her baking skills; why not try a particularly _quiet_ method? In leggings and an NYU sweatshirt, Betty pads around the kitchen as quietly as she can, mixing pancake batter and scooping coffee grinds into the filter. Somehow the one or two accidental clatters and subsequent curses don’t wake Jughead, but the smell of fresh coffee does. 

When she’s just about ready to start pouring batter, humming pleasantly at the sound of the coffee beginning to drip into the pot, Betty finally hears Jughead stirring on the couch. She smiles to herself, reaching down to turn on the stove. 

“You’re an angel,” comes Jughead’s sleepy voice, crackly but still booming through the tiny apartment, and Betty’s just happy she isn’t mid-pour, because she surely would have dropped the bowl. She can feel her face reddening with pleasant surprise. _Is he_ flirting _with me?_

She turns around, one hand on her hip and the other holding a spatula, and grins at Jughead, who is attempting to sit up fully as he stretches out his arms. “Good morning, Jug,” she says.

“I can’t believe I just woke up to the smell of coffee brewing,” Jughead says. “I would trade Archie for you as a roommate any day.”

The comment only deepens the blush on Betty’s cheeks, so she quickly turns back to the stove. “I’ll take the win and use it next time I need to gloat with Archie,” she says as she starts pouring the first pancake. “Also, there will soon be pancakes.”

“Pancakes?!” The excitement in Jughead’s voice is more intense than Betty thinks is warranted, but she’ll take it. When he speaks again, his voice is closer and she realizes with a start that he’s gotten up and is now watching her from the kitchen table. 

“What _kind_ of pancakes?” he inquires in an overly-innocent tone and Betty bites her lip, trying to concentrate on the bubbling batter though all she really wants to do is turn around and tease him right back. Among other things.

“Just plain ol’ buttermilk on such short notice,” Betty says. 

“I’ll allow it,” Jughead says. “As long as you’re using proper flipping technique.”

Betty turns around at that one, the look on her face clearly shocked enough that Jughead bursts out laughing. “What exactly is _‘proper flipping technique_?’” Betty asks, using air-quotes for the first time since she can remember.

Jughead grins, standing up and joining her in the kitchen. Betty tingles at how close he now is, crowding her space as he watches over her shoulder. “I’ll see if you have it,” he finally says, making the hairs on the back of Betty’s neck stand up.

Betty flips the first pancake with practiced confidence—she’s Alice Cooper’s daughter, after all—and grins when Jughead claps his hands together exaggeratedly.

She turns around and shoots him a smile. “Did I pass the test?”

“Five gold stars,” Jughead replies with a matching grin.

Betty turns back to the stove while Jughead disappears into the bathroom.

By the time he returns, Betty has poured them both mugs of coffee and is distributing pancakes onto the two plates she’s set at the table. 

“This is truly the best thing I’ve ever walked out of the bathroom to see,” Jughead says, taking his seat and waiting for Betty to join him. “But I _will_ be doing all the dishes, so don’t even think about lifting a single fork when you’re finished.”

His gentle yet firm tone makes Betty’s face hot and she busies herself with fetching extra napkins from under the sink. When she stands back up, grabbing the bottle of syrup on her way to the table, she sees that Jughead is watching her, patiently waiting. “Wow, you’re gonna wash the dishes _and_ you’re waiting for me to eat?” she says as she finally sits down, sincerely touched by the gesture.

“Who do you think raised me, a pack of wolves?” Jughead jokes, finally digging into his pancakes and averting his eyes, but Betty notices that a blush covers his cheeks too. It’s yet another of those moments when Betty thinks that maybe, just maybe, there could be a chance she’s not completely alone in this feeling. 

Betty smiles into her coffee, bringing her favorite floral mug to her lips. “So. How’d you sleep?”

Jughead grins, finally looking up from his pancakes for the first time since he started eating. _That’s more like the Jug I know and I love._

“ _Incredibly_ ,” Jughead says.

Betty shoots him a look of disbelief. “Really? You don’t have to lie, Jug,” she says. “I don’t even remember what thrift store me and Kev found that thing at back in college.”

Jughead laughs. “Okay, well. If we’re being _completely_ honest...”

“Seeing as you’re not just any guest, but my quarantine...partner?” Jughead laughs at the word and Betty throws her hands up in the air. “I don’t know! I feel like it gives you certain privileges, that’s all. I want you to be honest. And comfortable. So tell me...how bad was it?”

Jughead smirks at her. He seems like he wants to say something provocative but when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is: “Look, I’m not as upset as _Cheryl_ would be.” Betty can see him visibly wince when he says her cousin’s name, and he’s only met her a handful of times. She giggles. “But...I do have a bit of a crick in my neck.”

Betty nods. “More pillows,” she says confidently, tipping her mug in Jughead’s direction as she takes another hearty sip.

Jughead smiles, finishing off his pancakes. “You’re too good to me.” He pushes the plate aside and focuses on the coffee as Betty continues eating. 

“So…” Betty says. “I guess I’ll text Kevin this morning, ya know, check in…”

“Oh yeah, just a casual check-in,” Jughead says and then he puts on his best Kevin and Betty voices. “‘How’s your quarantine going?’ ‘Good, yours?’ ‘Alright. Just wondering what the status is on the possibility of your boyfriend spreading a highly contagious virus to us? Oh, what’s that? Nothing yet? Stands to reason. This is _America_ after all.’”

Betty barely keeps herself from spitting out her coffee, she’s laughing so hard by the end of Jughead’s monologue. She hiccups once and she and Jughead both lock widened eyes. She knows he’s thinking the same thing as she is: of that time last summer when the whole gang was down the shore and Betty couldn’t stop hiccuping for two full hours.

“Oh no. It’s happening again!” Jughead says in a dramatic voice and Betty reaches across the table to swat at his hand.

“No it’s not!” she insists, though there’s a hint of fear in her voice. 

“You’re right,” Jughead says. “It’s not. And if it is, maybe you’ll break some record for most hiccups hiccuped while in quarantine or something.”

Betty shakes her head at him, returning to her final pancake. 

“So,” Jughead says in the silence. “You’ll text Kevin today though, for real?”

Betty laughs, swallowing her last bite as she nods. “Yes, I will.” She drops her fork, finally finished with breakfast. “Actually, I’ll do it right now.”

“Great,” Jughead says, standing up quickly and stacking their plates. “And while you do that, I’ll start the dishes.”

Betty looks up from where she’s typing the words “Call me ASAP” in her message to Kevin to grin at Jughead. “Thank you for doing that,” she says softly, and she wonders how obvious it is that she’s thanking him for so much more than doing the dishes. _Thanks for being here._ She thinks again of last night. _No one I’d rather be quarantined with._

She shakes the thought from her head, the sound of Jughead turning on the sink snapping her out of her daydream. “Done,” Betty says, sending off the text. “I’ll let you know what Kevin and Fangs say.” 

Betty yawns, finishing off her coffee and bringing the mug to Jughead at the sink. “Well,” she says. “I think I’ll hop in the shower before ‘work.’” 

Jughead laughs at the air quotes she puts up. “That’s probably a good call,” he says.

“Right?” Betty responds. “I feel like I _must_ , just to wake myself up. Remind myself I have to like, _work,_ today.”

“Go get ‘em!” Jughead calls after her from the sink.

When Betty returns from the bathroom wearing the same leggings and sweater but feeling refreshed and clean, Jughead is patiently scrolling through his phone on the couch. She passes Jughead a towel before he can even ask and he accepts it gratefully before disappearing into the bathroom.

“Let’s get serious,” Betty murmurs to herself, grabbing her laptop and notebook from her bed and setting herself up at the kitchen table. She stretches out her neck and arms before finally gritting her teeth, launching her work email and VPN with a wince. The first thing waiting for her in the inbox is an unnecessarily lengthy email from Trev. She skims the many paragraphs contained inside. _Just checking to make sure your VPN is working okay. Ethel let me know you are home for the foreseeable future. Good thing I installed it yesterday, huh? Call ANYTIME._ Maybe Veronica and the rest of the office are on to something after all…

Betty rolls her eyes, closing Trev’s email without replying and immediately emailing Veronica and Toni. In all the madness of Jughead coming to crash with her the night before, she’d completely spaced out and forgotten to text her friends.

**FROM:** ELIZABETH COOPER

**TO:** ANTOINETTE TOPAZ, VERONICA LODGE

**Subject Line:** i’m quarantined!

Hey friends,

I cannot believe I forgot to text ya last night...Kevin’s boyfriend might have coronavirus. Bc of our Tue night contact with Kev, Jughead and I were advised to self-quarantine until we know for sure. Will be working from home for the foreseeable future; Ethel knows.

Call or text me if you need anything! 

Miss ya already,

B

Only a few minutes after Betty hits send, an all-staff memo comes in from HR. Betty’s eyes widen as she reads the contents. Apparently she’s only one day ahead of her friends after all. _All staff will be required to report from home starting Monday, March 16. Field assignments can continue as planned as long as appropriate safety precautions are taken, see attached memo…_

“Holy. _Shit_ ,” Betty says, trying to imagine her entire office suddenly empty. And not just her office, but all of them. Why does the very image fill her stomach with dread?

Betty’s only just getting over the initial shock when her phone buzzes. _Veronica._ She quickly picks up. “Hey, V!” she says, trying to sound cheerier than she feels. 

“It’s _madness_ over here, Betty!” Veronica exaggerates and it makes Betty relax a little. It can’t be the actual end of the world if Veronica is still this thoroughly _Veronica_. Right? 

“I just read the email from HR,” Betty says. “Guess I’m not special anymore, huh?”

Veronica laughs. “You are the most special of all, B,” she argues. “But are Kevin and his beau doing okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine. Fangs has only mild symptoms thankfully, but we have to be cautious in case we have it, not to pass onto people who will have less mild symptoms, you know,” Betty says, wincing when she realizes they’d had this exact conversation the day before. And earlier that week too. How many of their conversations will just be _this_ from now on? How long will this last? Betty can feel her stomach prickling with anxiety.

“Breathe, Betty,” Veronica says on the other end of the phone.

“Was it that obvious?”

“You were practically hyperventilating into the phone,” Veronica says. “But this might make you feel a little better: I’m gonna stop by on my way home to drop off your files for your active stories. I know how you are with your files, and it _is_ on the way home, after all.”

“It’s so not,” Betty says, a genuine smile crossing her face. “But thank you, V. That actually does make me feel a little better.”

“Happy to be of service, B!” Veronica says. “Now, the other reason I’m calling is, wondering if you need any Lysol, I’ll be…”

Their conversation is disrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening, quickly followed by Jughead’s voice. “Damn, work-from-home looks good on you, Cooper!” he quips and Betty whips her head around. 

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that meets her eyes: Jughead, his hair somehow even cuter when wet, wearing only a towel and stooping over his makeshift bed. 

On the other end of the phone, Betty hears Veronica squealing. “Is that _Jughead_?” she practically screeches and Betty’s face reddens, hoping that Jughead didn’t catch that.

“I’ll, uh...have to call you back Veronica, bye!” Betty says, hastily hanging up.

“Sorry,” Jughead says, finally standing fully up again with a t-shirt and jeans in hand. “Forgot my change of clothes,” he explains sheepishly, smirking when he notices Betty blatantly checking him out in his towel.

“Be right back,” he says quietly, turning and shutting the door gently behind him.

Betty’s email dings and she rolls her eyes when she sees a message come in from Veronica—she can tell from the preview that it’s written in all-caps. She throws her head in her hands. Jughead’s face had confirmed how obvious her reaction to seeing him in a towel had been. But she couldn’t help it. It had been hard to think of anything but what it might feel like to have those arms wrapped around her, to have the freedom to run her hands through his hair and slip that towel off…

Betty shakes her head as if the action alone would somehow shake her three-year crush on Jughead. If there was ever a time for the breathing exercises her therapist had taught her, now is that time. Betty closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and begins.

* * *

_‘Work-from-home looks good on you, Cooper!’? Who the fuck am I?_ Jughead buries his head in his hands, sitting on the closed seat of the toilet—the only place to be alone, unfortunately, in this little apartment. He would not blame Betty if she kicks him out of her place the second he comes out of the bathroom fully clothed. 

But when he finally emerges from the bathroom a couple minutes later, he finds a fresh pot of coffee brewing and Betty sitting calmly at her computer, seemingly typing out an email. 

“Hey,” she says as he comes to sit opposite her, dropping his work bag next to his chair and unpacking his laptop. “Fresh coffee’s almost ready,” she adds, eyes barely leaving her computer screen. That trademark concentration of hers—it intoxicates him. Ever since he’s known her, all he’s wanted is to be the thing—the _person_ —she’s training her eyes on like that.

“The rain stopped,” Jughead comments, looking out the kitchen window.

Betty shrugs sadly. “I kinda liked it.”

“It does have a certain ambience,” Jughead agrees and they both crack a smile. Jughead’s shoulders visibly relax; maybe he hadn’t completely fucked up with the out-of-character pick-up line. And he _had_ noticed Betty checking him out. “Rain has always been my favorite writing weather,” he adds, feeling the need to fill the space, to make Betty smile again. “So maybe better not to waste it on the time when we have to be slaves to capitalism.”

“Now _that’s_ the on-brand positivity I was looking forward to,” Betty jokes, finally lifting her eyes from her screen to meet his with an adorable little smirk.

“That’s what I’m here for, Betty.”

“Oh, by the way,” Betty says, standing up to pour herself a mug of the coffee that’s now finished brewing. “My office is officially going remote on Monday. I got the email while you were...in the shower.” He swears she hesitates on that last bit, quickly turning her back to him as she rummages in the fridge for milk, and something that feels like hope fills his stomach.

“You’ve always been a trendsetter,” Jughead jokes, standing up to get his own coffee. Betty passes him the milk on her way back to the table.

She flips her ponytail jokingly. “That’s me, trendsetting fashionista.”

The first few hours pass naturally. So naturally it makes Jughead’s heart hurt a little. It makes it all too easy to picture—the idea of he and Betty sharing an apartment, a kitchen table, a life. They occasionally crack jokes, grab each other water or coffee when one of them stands up, make jokes on their way to the bathroom. Like they’ve been doing this forever. (There _had_ been a few times they’d all gone on weekend trips since Jughead moved here. Betty and Jughead always ended up the ones tucked into the couch with their laptops, so there was _some_ precedent.)

Betty has finally detached herself from her computer to make sandwiches for lunch when the email comes in from Jughead’s office. 

“Work from home starts Monday,” he says, dumbfounded. Betty looks up quickly from the counter, her eyes widening.

“Wow,” she says, similarly shocked. “It’s all happening so…”

“Fast.”

“ _So_ fast.”

They let the initial shock subside. Jughead is the first to break the silence.

“Well, I guess we’re officially work-from-home buddies for the foreseeable future, huh?”

“Yeah,” Betty replies and if Jughead’s not mistaken, she’s a little breathless. “I’m looking forward to it,” she adds, and there’s definitely a flirtatious lilt to her voice there. 

“I still think I have no symptoms,” Jughead says as Betty returns to the table bearing two sandwiches on her Ikea-brand plates.

“Jeez, Jug, great conversation topic for lunchtime,” Betty jokes. 

Jughead laughs, already biting into his sandwich. “Sorry, Betts,” he says. “You’re right. Your food is too good to be spoiled by talk of sore throats and fevers.”

“ _Exactly_!” Betty jokes back and they fall into a silence as they eat.

“It’s really weird though,” Jughead says softly when he speaks again, wiping crumbs from the corner of his mouth. “Just...the thought of my entire company sitting in our separate apartments, going about our so-called normal business…”

“I know,” Betty says, nodding enthusiastically. “It’s like, the biggest mind-fuck of all time. I cannot seem to wrap my head around it, no matter how hard I try.”

Jughead notices Betty pressing her fingers into her palm, one of her nervous ticks. “So, what are we watching later?” he asks, relieved when Betty’s mouth curls upward like he hoped it would.

“Oh, it’s a good thing we’re starting this debate now,” Betty replies. “Because I have _opinions_.”

“Oh, yeah? Well so do I!” 

(That conversation topic lasts them the rest of their lunch hour, with the pair begrudgingly calling a truce until dinnertime, as no consensus was reached. Jughead doesn’t mind; he could debate with Betty for hours and never tire of it.)

Jughead insists on making the next pot of coffee when Betty itches for caffeine an hour after lunch. His demand brings another of those now-familiar blushes to Betty’s cheeks. As Jughead returns to the table with his mug and watches Betty pouring milk into her own coffee at the counter, he can’t help but think that they may be entering uncharted territory in their relationship.

They continue to work in harmony until they’re interrupted by Jughead’s phone loudly announcing a FaceTime call from their favorite red-haired hypochondriac.

Betty looks up from her computer. “Who is it?” she asks and Jughead is confused by the shift in her tone, almost like she doesn’t want to know the answer.

“It’s Archie,” he says. “Probably making sure we haven’t died yet.”

“Oh,” Betty says and Jughead can’t tell why she sounds relieved.

He flips open the call and Betty grins at the sound of Archie’s voice: “hey, you two!” 

Jughead gestures for Betty to come closer; she scoots her chair toward him so they’re both filling the screen. Archie is lounging on the couch, the camera propped up so they can see he’s wearing the designer sweats Betty and Jughead always make fun of him for owning.

“What’s up, Arch?” Betty asks, stifling a laugh at his dramatic pose.

“I’m trying to stay positive,” Archie replies, looking thoughtfully into the distance. Jughead stifles a laugh of his own; situations like these always seem to bring out the dramatics in Archie. “I’m writing a lot of music, meditating.”

Jughead internally thinks about how thankful he is not to be around to witness an uptick in these activities. Neither on its own is particularly annoying, but Archie’s taste in music has never quite meshed with Jughead’s...and the gratuitous candle display he insists on lighting before each meditation session has been a source of much anxiety for Jughead. 

“That’s good, Arch,” Betty says. “You’re not spending too much time worrying about getting this virus, right?” 

“I’m trying not to,” Archie says. “You know me too well, Betty.” He sighs and shifts on the couch onscreen and Jughead’s stomach drops a little at the smile that crosses Betty’s face. “But how are you two doing?” Archie finally asks.

“Uh, doing alright,” Betty says. “Right, Jug?” She turns to look at him and Jughead reddens under her intense gaze. He’s spent nearly 24 hours straight alone with Betty feeling completely fine; why is being on display to Archie so nerve-wracking to him?

“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Just taking turns making coffee and doing work over here. Nothing too major to report from our quarantine.”

Betty laughs but Archie’s face remains stoic. “Have you heard from Kevin and Fangs?” Archie asks insistently.

Betty shakes her head. “Not yet. We’ll keep you posted.”

Archie’s phone buzzes, the sound reverberating through the phone at Betty and Jughead. Archie leans forward, a closer-up image of his face filling up the screen. “It’s Josie,” he says, his voice immediately shifting in the same way it has since Archie declared to Jughead that he was going to marry Ginger Lopez in the second grade. 

“Ooooh,” Betty says, bumping Jughead’s shoulder in an effort to get him to play along. The gesture soothes him, the touch causing a familiar tingle to go through his body.

“You never told me how that date went on Tuesday,” Jughead says.

“Really well,” Archie says, finishing his response and backing away from the camera. “We’re both really bummed we can’t see each other right now. But again, looking on the bright side, we’ve been sexting a lot.”

Betty and Jughead’s faces both morph into disgust as they simultaneously let out an enthusiastic “UCH!”

“What?” Archie says. “We’re all sexual beings, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” Betty’s face reddens and she averts her eyes from Jughead. 

Jughead, meanwhile, is too busy coming to a sober realization. “Wait…” he says. “Were you...that text you just typed…”

Betty’s eyes widen, turning to share a horrified look with Jughead. “ _Archie_!” Betty says forcefully. “Were you just _sexting_ Josie McCoy while on a FaceTime call with your two best friends?”

Archie rolls his eyes. “So what?” he says, shrugging. “Multitasking is the way of the 21st century.”

Betty facepalms and Jughead shakes his head. “This is a new low even for you, man.”

“Do you wanna hear the kind of stuff she’s been sending me…”

“Nope, nope, nope!” Betty and Jughead both shriek, covering their ears.

“I think that’s enough checking in for today, Arch,” Jughead says, grabbing his phone from where it’s propped up on Betty’s napkin holder. “You have a good night, okay?”

“Bye, Arch!” Betty says, still covering her face out of embarrassment.

“Wait…” Archie says, but Jughead hangs up before he can say anything more.

It feels like a zap of reality— _Archie_. For the past three years, ever since Betty had entered his permanent orbit and he’d subsequently fallen under her spell, Jughead had kind of gone out of his way not to ask about Archie and Betty’s history, afraid of what he’d find out. After all, college is full of plenty of drunk and high nights, nights when you do things you maybe don’t quite regret, but chalk up to a one-time thing, never to be spoken of again. A small part of him has always wondered—feared, really—if Archie is the thing standing in his way of being with Betty. 

They’re sitting in silence, their chairs still pushed together at the table, when sunlight bursts through Betty’s kitchen window, making both of them squint at the harshness. 

“What a weird fucking day,” Jughead says. “It was raining earlier, and now this?”

“Maybe it really is the apocalypse,” Betty jokes. 

Jughead looks over at Betty and God, she’s so close. So beautiful. He could reach out and touch her if he could only muster the courage. Before he can do something he regrets, Jughead bounds out of the chair—so fast he realizes with regret that Betty visibly flinches. 

“Apocalypse or no apocalypse,” Jughead says, attempting a jovial tone as he walks over to his duffle bag. “I think it’s about time for a joint.”

Betty laughs in what sounds like relief. “Jugheaaadd,” she whines. “It isn’t technically 5 yet. It’s still the work day.”

Jughead nods, considering, although the joint is already firmly placed between his lips. He pulls it out for a few moments, lets it rest between his fingertips—long enough to walk across the room back to Betty, his eyes trained on her the whole time. He doesn’t know where this confidence came from, but he also realizes he’s never spent this much uninterrupted alone time with Betty before. 

“It’s 4:26,” Jughead says when he reaches her and she’s smiling at him, drinking him in like they’re the last two people on earth and well, maybe they are. “And if it’ll make you feel any better—tell you this, we’ll monitor our emails until 5.” 

Betty nods, reaching for the joint and he smirks at her. “Oh, you want to _light_ it now?” Jughead asks.

Betty meets his smirk with a coy shake of the head. “I didn’t say _that,”_ she says, accepting the unlit joint he easily passes off. He’d give her anything she asked him for. “What’s that old saying? Oh, right: a lady never lights her own cigarette.”

She places the joint between her lips with such an expressive look that Jughead will for all of time wonder how he didn’t grab Betty and kiss her senseless in that moment. He can feel the tension brewing—it’s becoming more and more obvious that whatever’s here is not one-sided by any means and the thought both terrifies and excites him. Jughead lights the joint for her, concentrating on the burning ember in an attempt to still his shaking hands.

Betty lets out her first hit and then says loudly, “But I’m checking my email for thirty more minutes, I promise!”

“Can you hear us, Jeff Bezos, oh, corporate overlord?!” Jughead yells and Betty giggles.

They’re still passing the joint at the table, laughing and venting about petty work frustrations, when the doorbell rings.

Jughead shoots Betty an inquisitive look. After all, he’s pretty sure they didn’t order food. “Oh, shit,” Betty says, quickly standing up and walking toward the door to buzz the person in. “I totally forgot to tell you...Veronica has to drop off some files. For work. She’s just stopping by.”

Jughead laughs, a little nervous but trying not to show it. He’s only met Veronica half a dozen times, but she’s managed to scare him pretty much every time. “No worries,” Jughead says. “Nice of her to drop them off. She should just stay what...six feet apart from us? Since we’re...”

“Possibly infected?” Betty supplies. “Yep, six feet.” She shakes her head as she opens the door, hearing Veronica’s heels clicking on the stairs. “What a wild time.”

“You’re telling me, B!” Veronica says from the hall, catching her breath. The always-elegant Veronica Lodge is wearing a black shift dress and heels to match her sleek, black face-mask and medical-grade gloves, hauling two large bags behind her.

“Come on in, V,” Betty says, stepping back to keep her distance.

“Hello, Jughead,” Veronica says as Betty shuts the door behind her. 

“Hey, Veronica,” Jughead says. “Weird time, huh?”

“Yes, it really is. But it’s working out well for you two, no?”

Jughead’s face burns a little. Is his crush on Betty that obvious? But when he dares to check for Betty’s reaction, he notices she’s shooting Veronica a pointed, almost pleading look. He raises his eyebrows, looking away before either of them notice. 

“Anyway, Veronica,” Betty says loudly. “I don’t want to keep you out in the infected world too long. You have those files for me?”

Jughead laughs a little, taking a hit off the joint that’s still burning. “You need a hit, Betts?” he asks, noticing her shoulders are tense where she’s standing with one hand resting on the kitchen table. She’s told him plenty of times before, during late-night smoke seshes at his apartment, that weed is good for her anxiety.

Betty turns to accept the joint gratefully. “Thanks, Jug,” she says, returning to her seat. They’d never quite scooted their chairs apart again after their FaceTime call with Archie—and Jughead’s certainly not complaining.

Veronica clears her throat and they both look up. Veronica gives them a terrifyingly knowing look as she plops a stack of manila folders onto the kitchen counter along with a couple bottles of Lysol and rolls of toilet paper.

“You didn’t have to do all of this, V,” Betty says. 

“Oh, _yes_ I did!” she counters, unzipping her purse and retrieving a couple face-masks and a box of gloves. “And these are to wear if you go out for a walk or to the grocery store. You know, it’s good to get some occasional exercise when you work from home. Fresh air. That’s what the experts say. Unless you two would rather stay cooped up for days on end...no knowing what you’ll get up to.” 

The wink she uses to punctuate her final point has Jughead clearing his throat awkwardly. He can’t be making this up, right? This _has_ to mean that Veronica has noticed there’s something between them. Right? Maybe that moment he thought they’d had on Tuesday night wasn’t in his head after all...

Betty takes the opportunity to return the diminishing roach of a joint to Jughead and shepherd Veronica out the door. “Thanks again, V,” Betty says. “Don’t know what I would do without you. I owe you a drink on the other side of this.”

“Stay safe, okay? And let me know what Kevin and Fangs say.”

“Yep, yep, we will,” Betty says, waiting until Veronica is safely out the door so she can follow her to close it behind her. “Stay healthy!”

She rests her head against the door, eyes closed, after finally locking it behind Veronica. “Is it 5 yet?” she asks Jughead without opening her eyes.

He grins, looking down at his phone. “4—and I kid you not—58,” he replies.

“Oh, close enough.” Betty says, rushing across the room and dramatically closing her laptop. “I’m making us something tasty for dinner!” She turns her back on him to start rummaging through her cupboard for ingredients, practically bouncing in her socked feet with nervous energy.

_Convenient_ , Jughead thinks, as he takes one last glance at his inbox to ensure he didn’t miss anything important before logging off, _that Betty is hiding her face from me right now._

* * *

Betty frowns at the ingredients assembled on the counter. “How do you feel about a sort of strange tapas situation?” she asks, turning around and smiling guiltily at Jughead. 

“That’s totally fine, Betts,” Jughead says, grinning at her as genuinely as ever. “And I’ve got snacks covered for tonight, and...at least a few days.” 

Betty laughs. “Sounds about right.” She turns back around, surveying her spread. “Okay, so how do we feel about...this frozen garlic bread, tomato soup, and…” She rummages around in another cabinet. “...Ritz crackers? I think I have cheese in the fridge. Dammit.” She tries to remind herself to breathe as she shoves open the fridge and finds the half-block of gouda she'd splurged on the week before. “I think I have less food here than I thought,” she says, turning back around. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jughead says and Betty nods, trying to believe him. “You didn’t expect having a second mouth to feed, let alone _me_ , the bottomless pit of our friend group.”

Betty laughs. “Wow, did you just _self-identify_ as a bottomless pit?”

Jughead bursts out laughing in that uncontained, beautiful way one does when sufficiently stoned. 

“I thought my self-deprecating humor was one of the things you liked about me,” he says when they’ve both quieted down. 

Betty’s back is to him as she preheats the oven and her stomach clenches. She can’t see his face, but his tone alone sends a shiver up her spine. She feels like something is on the very precipice of happening. Or maybe it’s the global pandemic they’re living through. It’s probably both.

“You’re right,” she finally says, not even sure if Jughead remembers she never answered him. “It’s one of my favorite things about you,” she says, meeting Jughead’s surprised smile with a grin of her own. 

Then she turns around and focuses on things she knows how to do, like pulling out pots and opening cans and setting timers. No one can say she doesn’t delegate, however—Jughead happily sets the table when she asks, then, unprompted, wipes down the kitchen table and the front doorknob with some of the Lysol Veronica brought them. 

“We must stay vigilant, Betty,” he says, half-joking, half-serious, in the way that _everything_ kind of feels lately.

Betty grins, stirring the soup on the stove. “This is gonna be an...interesting meal.”

“It’s gonna be a _great_ meal,” Jughead argues, passing her oven mitts as the timer on the garlic bread goes off. “Like everything you’ve ever cooked.”

Betty can’t believe how seamlessly he fits into her apartment. Usually she _hates_ being joined in this tiny kitchen by anyone else. She’s shooed pretty much everyone in her life out at some point or another—Archie, Kevin, Veronica, Cheryl. It probably stems from the extreme tension she’d felt in her childhood kitchen with her mom and older sister, a much bigger kitchen that somehow felt even smaller than this one. But Jughead has slipped right in; never getting in the way, but instead carving out his niche and making her smile. Like he belongs here.

Jughead sets the last utensil down on the table and takes his seat again. “I do have to tell you,” he says as he watches Betty slice the bread. “That I _will_ be doing the dishes again.” 

“Not gonna say no,” Betty says, smiling. 

“Good,” he says. She walks over and hands him the plate of garlic bread, which he accepts with excited eyes. 

“That was an _amazing_ meal, Betty,” Jughead says for the second time, up to his elbows in suds. 

Betty shakes her head, standing beside him drying a pot. “You don’t have to keep saying that, Jug,” she insists. (Jughead had protested her offer to help dry, cornering her against the counter as he tried to convince her to sit down and relax. She’d, of course, won that argument, thoroughly flushed when he finally returned to the sink.)

“Just saying, best apocalyptic pantry meal ever,” he says.

“Okay, now _that_ compliment I’ll accept,” Betty says, laughing. 

There’s a moment, too—right when Betty moves to leave the kitchen, just as Jughead turns in her direction to return a dish towel to the oven door—when Betty thinks everything is about to change. He’s staring at her lips (it isn’t even debatable) and she’s looking up at him, daring him to move. 

But before Jughead can move that inch forward to close the gap between them, they’re interrupted again, the Lady Gaga song Betty has set as Kevin’s ringtone blaring through the kitchen.

Even Jughead knows what that means, backing up from Betty with regret on his face. She thinks it must be reflected back in her own eyes. “Kevin’s finally getting back to us,” he says in a weakly-celebratory tone. 

“Yeah,” Betty says, gulping and crossing the room to pick up the phone. “Hey, Kev,” she says, aiming the camera at herself and gesturing for Jughead to follow her to the couch.

“Hello, friends!”

They settle themselves so Kevin can see both of them. “Where’s Fangs?” Jughead asks.

“Napping,” Kevin says, lowering his voice as he settles on his own couch. “He’s been napping a lot.”

“How are you feeling, Kev?” Betty asks.

“Actually okay,” Kevin says. “Fangs and I have tried not to touch any more than we need to,” he sighs. “Which has been hard. But I’m almost 100% infected if Fangs has it anyway! So it all feels kinda futile. It makes him feel better though, so I’m doing it.”

“Damn, that’s rough, Kev, I’m sorry,” Betty says, her heart aching for her friend.

“But we’re still waiting for a test for Fangs to take, let alone results. So...I guess we’re all in this quarantine thing together for at least what...13 more days?”

Jughead shrugs. “Theoretically. Though who knows how long the city being basically shut down will last?”

Betty shivers next to him. “It’s so crazy,” she says. “I feel like we’re living through something just...unbelievable.”

Kevin frowns sadly through the screen. “Me too, Betty, me too,” he says. “Ugh. Well, thanks for chatting with me but I think I’m gonna go drown my sorrows in ice cream and RuPaul.”

“That’s the spirit, Kev!” Jughead says and Betty laughs alongside him.

“You two enjoy whatever serial killer docu-series you have lined up for tonight,” Kevin says, cackling at their offended looks and vague words of protest before hanging up.

Betty rolls her eyes, looking at Jughead, who is now laughing. “You find that funny?” she says indignantly.

“To be fair,” Jughead says, catching his breath. “He’s not wrong.”

Betty sighs deeply. “I can’t believe it! All that hard work of deciding on what to watch over dinner, down the drain.”

“Back to the drawing board, Betts.”

“We’re gonna need weed for this one.”

* * *

They settle on nostalgia: that version of _The Parent Trap_ that makes pretty much any young millennial think of a simpler time, with a simpler Lindsay Lohan. Betty insisted she needed some comfort and familiarity in uncertain times, and Jughead had a feeling Betty would be distracting him no matter what they watched.

As the opening scene plays, Betty packs another bowl in her trusty bong and passes it to Jughead. He can’t help but think that even Lindsay Lohan playing double won’t distract him from this national emergency they’re living through.

“What you said on the phone before with Kevin,” he says on his next exhale, passing the bong back as she turns to look at him with interest. 

“Yeah?”

“About this being...unbelievable. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to think of something else I’ve lived through that’s even sort of on the same level and I…”

“Come up blank?” Betty tries and Jughead nods, accepting the bong she passes him.

“Pretty much,” Jughead says. “I mean, I’ve lived through some pretty bad snowstorms, I guess? Didn’t you guys have a rough time during Hurricane Sandy? I wasn’t living here then.”

“Oh, yeah, that was our freshman year of college,” Betty says. “It was absolute madness. I mean, NYU is downtown and there was so much flooding...it was just so terrifying to feel like everyone, the entire city, was unprepared for something...completely beyond our control.”

Jughead’s always entranced by the way she tells stories, the careful word choices she makes. He swears he could listen to her talk all night, let every early 2000s childhood movie play in the background to this. “That really is what it feels like now,” Jughead says.

“Times a million,” says Betty. “Because the whole world is dealing with it...not just one region of the world.”

“True,” Jughead says. “We didn’t get hit as hard by Sandy up in Massachusetts.” Jughead had gone to a state school near where he and Archie grew up, delaying his New York dreams for four years as the sensible route given his family’s limited funds and his many, many loans. 

“That was October of freshman year. It really bonded me, Archie, and Kevin for life, you know? I mean, Archie was totally freaking out and somehow that made it easier for me and Kevin not to,” she says. “We sang ridiculous show-tunes and told secrets and just...passed the time, the best way we could.”

Jughead smiles, able to picture it so easily. He loves that he’s been able to fit into this little friend group Archie had found so seamlessly. But again, the reverence on Betty’s face as she tells the story..a small part of him always wonders if, in moments of crisis and heightened drama like that, Betty and Archie had ever...he can’t even bear to finish the thought. 

He looks over at Betty, but she’s engrossed in the movie again, apparently having taken his silence as a decision to continue watching.

Jughead figures he could drop the question that’s on the tip of his tongue and join her in just relaxing back into the movie. Let this scene play out however the universe wills it to. But truthfully, Jughead’s feeling reckless. He’s not sure why. Maybe because, locked behind closed doors for the foreseeable future, there are limited options for acting out such an impulse. 

(And besides, he knows he won’t be able to control this particular impulse for much longer—he’s nearly certain they almost kissed in the kitchen after dinner and he can think about little else.)

He suddenly needs to know. Suddenly, the thing he’s scared of most of all is the idea of he and Betty getting through this huge thing together, only to find out they haven’t moved one inch from where they were at the start.

“How did you and Archie meet anyway?” he finally blurts out, bracing for the worst.

Betty bolts up. “Wait...we’ve never told you this story?” 

Jughead shakes his head, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. Why is part of him always worried she can read his mind? 

“Well, you know some of it,” she counters, giving him an obvious look.

“Yes, yes,” Jughead says. “I know Kevin and Archie were roommates freshman year.”

“And that I lived in the same dorm as them that year,” Betty adds, her voice an annoyed _“you should know this.”_

“Yes, I know all of that,” Jughead says, grinning. “But I never heard the story of how the three of you started hanging out.”

Betty’s cheeks turn red and Jughead, again, braces himself. He needs to rip the Band-Aid off. Right?

“Oh,” she says. “I guess I figured Archie would’ve told you. So, there was this floor party the first weekend on campus.” Betty pauses to reach for the bong she’d let sit on the coffee table and takes a big hit. “Kevin and I totally bonded while both waiting to request songs from the person ‘DJing.’” 

Jughead laughs. “Hmm. September 2012, this was?”

Betty nods. “Mmhmm. I’ll leave what songs we wanted up to your imagination.”

“Like a fun game of Mad Libs for me. I like you, Cooper.”

Betty grins at him. “So, me and Kevin end up standing in a corner of the party, buzzed and just getting to know each other and really hitting it off, when Archie comes up to us. _Completely_ plastered.”

Jughead laughs. “Of course. Enter Doofus from stage left.”

Betty laughs. “Pretty much,” she admits. “He…” she pauses, and there that blush is again, her eyes averted from Jughead’s. “He hit on me pretty blatantly,” she finally says, the words tumbling out quickly. “I _immediately_ rejected him. Pretty harshly actually. It was not a good first impression.”

“Oof,” Jughead says, trying not to look too excited at this new information.

“Yeah. I’ve just...even back then, I’ve never seen Archie as anything more than a friend.” She shrugs. “We’re just...not compatible in that way, you know?”

Jughead nods, trying to hide the grin covering his face at the knowledge that what he’s been afraid of all along doesn’t exist. Not only had they never been involved but Betty had flat out rejected him? He will certainly take it.

“Anyway, the next morning Kevin and Archie came to my room and Archie gave me the most sincere apology ever and asked if we could start over again and all be friends,” Betty says. A smile breaks out across Jughead’s face as he thinks about all the times he’s been on the receiving end of an Andrews-patented apology. “I went to the dining hall for breakfast with them and we’ve basically all been inseparable ever since.”

“Aww,” Jughead says. “Warms your heart.”

“Wow,” Betty says, pushing the bong into Jughead’s hands. “I can’t believe you’re just hearing that story.”

“Well, thanks for telling it,” Jughead says. “Better late than never.”

“Yeah,” Betty says quietly, reaching up to throw the blanket sitting on the back of her couch over them. Jughead grins, helping her spread the blanket over both their legs, finally getting comfy.

“It’s just…” Betty says a few minutes later and Jughead starts, having successfully re-immersed himself in the movie. 

“Yeah?”

“Why wouldn’t Archie tell you that story?” she says, that same inquisitive voice she has whenever she’s talking about a story she’s chasing at the magazine.

Jughead shrugs, a pit forming in his throat. “I think he told me pretty much everything but the part where he was super drunk and hit on you,” he says. 

Betty laughs. “But that’s the _main_ part of the story, Jug.”

Jughead puts his hands up in surrender. “You’re right. I don’t know, Betts. Guess this is one mystery we cannot solve tonight.”

“Right,” Betty says, watching him with a strange smile on her face.

Their conversation fizzles out then, and Jughead allows himself to get lost in the plot. So lost that he doesn’t notice both of them gradually gravitating closer to one another under the blanket. Just before the climax of the movie, Betty leans on him completely, her eyes drooping as her head rests gently on his shoulder. He quickly moves his arm around Betty’s shoulders to steady her and she startles awake at the contact.

Betty blushes when she realizes the position they’re in and moves her head off his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she says, moving to back away from him.

“No!” Jughead practically shouts and Betty’s eyes widen. “Don’t,” Jughead adds breathlessly. “Don’t be sorry. Just…”

Betty swallows, watching him with scared eyes. _Are you just as nervous as I am?_ They look at each other through a full thirty seconds of dialogue, neither brave enough to move.

“Just…” Jughead finally speaks again. “Just stay here.” He offers his arm to Betty, inviting her back into the warmth of his body.

She nods, settling herself in so that she’s leaning across his chest and shoulders. It’s intoxicating, having her so close, breathing in her scent. Somehow it feels natural to stay like that, watching the end of the movie in contented silence.

Jughead is unsure when they drift off, but when he wakes up again, Betty is still nestled in his arms on the couch, and his phone says it’s past 3 AM. 

He looks down at Betty, angelic in the lamplight gently bathing the dark room, and thinks about how their unspoken words seem to translate through the touch of their warm bodies. 

It’s enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh boy! Things are heating up in the quarantine for Betty and Jughead! 
> 
> As for _my_ quarantine...let’s just say, I’m surviving. And this fic—and the incredible feedback I’ve gotten about it!—has been a source of much catharsis through my work stress and anxiety etc that this crisis is bringing to the surface. And my roommates and I are all healthy even if work is terrible for me and we're all poor af lol.
> 
> As I said before, I’m kinda basing this fic on my own journey through this shit and as of right now it’s really *just* getting real for NYC. So we’ll see where this goes together huh?
> 
> Wash your hands, practice social distancing, do something indoors that makes you happy, etc. etc. Sending you all the love and wishes for good health <3 Let me know what you thought of this latest chapter and I’ll see y’all next time! XO Maria


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __
> 
> _He slaps his palm against his forehead. “What the fuck is wrong with us that a literal global pandemic was what it took for us to tell each other how we feel?”_
> 
> __
> 
> _Betty giggles, planting a sweet kiss on his cheek. “Look, for whatever reason, I guess that’s what it took for us to have this moment.”_
> 
> __
> 
> _“Maybe we shouldn’t analyze too hard why this is the path the universe had in store for us,” Jughead says and Betty giggles again._
> 
> how many days does it take a quarantined betty and jughead to make out? read on to find out... ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say...I’ve been outlining this fic in real time based on my observations and notes on the weather, what happened, etc. on each day of this outbreak in NYC. so, when i started writing this and outlined the first three chapters the weekend of the 13th/14th, I thought, ‘oh they can totally go out for one grocery store trip.’ (Veronica brought them gloves and masks in the last chapters to help them do just that.) Now, on March 24, as I start digging into Ch 3, I’m inundated with various rules and new information and am realizing that I would have advised Betty and Jughead to opt for grocery delivery. But for the sake of reflecting my authentic New York experience I decided to leave it as is. This will be the one and only time they leave Betty’s apartment for at least 14 days and they’re gonna be very OD with the gloves and masks, please don’t yell at me. 
> 
> Stay home and stay healthy, readers! Hope you enjoy this latest chapter
> 
> xo
> 
> maria

3.

**march 14, 2020**

Jughead wakes up exactly two minutes before his alarm, a taunting habit of his internal clock. He can’t help but grin when he realizes that he and Betty are just as closely intertwined as they’d been when they passed out on the couch the night before. 

Betty stirs in his arms and his stomach clenches with anticipation. Their faces are only a few inches apart and when her eyes float open, Jughead is delighted to watch her expression turn from a pleasant smile to confusion to embarrassment, in that order.

“Hi,” he says, watching Betty’s face transform again into a cute smile, though her cheeks are still blushing red.

“Hi,” she says, a little breathless. Jughead almost involuntarily tightens his grip around Betty’s warm body when he notices her eyes darting unmistakably to his lips.

 _Oh my God,_ he thinks. And then, seemingly at his limit when it comes to talking himself out of things concerning Betty Cooper: _Fuck it._

She’s still watching him intensely, making it easier for Jughead to cup Betty’s face in his hands, locking eyes in a tentative confirmation. The burning desire reflected back at him is enough. He leans forward the mere inches it takes to close the gap between them—finally, finally, finally kissing Betty Cooper. She responds enthusiastically, hands tangling in his hair as she twists her body closer to him. Jughead hadn’t even realized his beanie had fallen off until this moment. Sometime in the night? It’s almost exhilarating not to know.

He’s unsure how long they remain horizontal on the couch, making out with abandon—Jughead certainly isn’t gonna stop them and Betty doesn’t seem like she wants to stop anytime soon either. Kissing Betty is as bruising and intoxicating as he’d dreamed, but also so much more than his mind could ever have conjured. This may as well be his first kiss, because in his very limited experience, kissing someone has never felt so _right._ Until now.

Betty ends up the one who finally pulls back, breathing heavily and smiling nervously at him. “I thought we might want to...breathe,” she says, her hands still fisted in Jughead’s hair. “Maybe talk?”

“You always were the sensible one,” Jughead quips, smiling down at her thoroughly-kissed lips.

Betty laughs. Then, a blush still staining her cheeks, she offers: “I’ve wanted to kiss you for _so_ long.” Jughead can’t help but laugh too, leaning down and capturing her lips again.

Betty whines at the loss when he pulls back a minute later, curling a lock of her hair around his finger as he smiles down at her to say, “We’ve wasted a lot of time, then. Because _I’ve_ wanted to kiss _you_ for _so_ long.”

“What a shame,” Betty says, shaking her head in mock disappointment, though unable to hide the grin splitting across her face. 

“We can always make up for it…” Jughead says. He’s trying to decide if he can get away with stealing another kiss—it’s not a work day, after all. But Betty groans, finally removing her hands from Jughead’s body to rub at her shoulders. 

“I see what you’re saying about that crick in your neck,” she says. 

Jughead laughs. “It’s a hard life, this couch life,” he says, helping Betty as she moves to disentangle herself from the blanket.

“Let me…let me go make us something,” she says, clambering to her feet and grabbing the steadying hand Jughead offers to find her balance. She’s still rubbing her neck as she ambles slowly toward the kitchen. 

“Okay,” Jughead says, watching her go with a smile. “I’ll be there in a minute!” He can already hear Betty filling the coffee pot with water. Comforting.

The 13-year-old boy that lives eternally inside him wants to collapse back into the blankets, lay there basking in what just happened. But the 25-year-old in him needs the bathroom to...er, collect himself. So Jughead stands up with some difficulty, stretching out on his way to the little bathroom.

 _She’s wanted to kiss me for_ so _long._

He splashes water on his face, one last test to ensure he’s not dreaming.

* * *

Betty places a hand on the kitchen counter to ground her as she watches the coffee drip too slowly into the pot with a little grin on her face, one she couldn’t hide if she wanted to.

Waking up in Jughead’s arms felt so right. Her split second of embarrassment and uncertainty had been quelled almost immediately. The way he’d been looking at her was unmistakable. She’d never seen anyone look at her like that before, but somehow she knew exactly what it meant. Betty is quite sure that if Jughead hadn’t kissed her when he had, she would’ve done it herself.

It’s why she doubled down, owning up to her long-held desire to kiss him. But it doesn’t make Betty any less scared now. Kissing feels like the easy part. Figuring out what happens next, when the “next” involves a series of indefinite days spent quarantined together in her studio apartment? She doesn’t know where to even begin. 

But cooking always quiets Betty’s mind, so here she is, gripping the counter too hard and staring into her cabinet. _I_ really _don’t have as much food as I thought._

“You okay, Betts?”

His voice is so _soft_. Has it always been that way, or did the kiss change something? She kind of likes that idea. She turns around slowly, unable to hide her grin at his messy hair as she takes him in, standing behind the kitchen table with his hand perched on one of the seatbacks.

“I think we need to go to the grocery store,” she blurts out.

“Oh, shit! Already? Is that...allowed?”

Betty throws her hands up, letting out a nervous laugh. “I don’t know. I mean, didn’t they say you should wear a mask only if you think you might be infected? And Veronica brought us those masks and gloves yesterday.”

“True,” Jughead says. “Are we technically breaking our suggested 14-day quarantine if we do just one essential errand, but with full protective gear on?”

Betty purses her lips. “I honestly don’t know,” she says. “But I know we need provisions if we’re gonna last the rest of the fourteen days, or longer. Maybe we just pool our resources, do one big trip in that protective gear, and then don’t go out again.”

Jughead nods, running his hand through his hair. “That sounds...like our best option, honestly,” he agrees. “Maybe we can like...make a list, you know? Try to make it an efficient trip.”

Betty’s eyes light up and she leans back against the counter, feeling more relaxed now that they’ve concocted a plan of action. “Yes, that’s a _great_ idea, Jug,” she says. “And we can split up once we get in.”

Jughead nods. “That works,” he says.

Betty grins, feeling like her gears are turning as she continues, “We’ll each take half the list, get our stuff, and check out. Meet back outside as fast as we can.”

Jughead laughs. “All while wearing our masks and gloves like the good citizens we are,” he adds.

“Of course,” Betty says. “And then we come back inside and stay here for the foreseeable future.”

The sheepish grin on Jughead’s face makes Betty certain he’s thinking of that morning. Maybe that’s why she says, “I still can’t believe I slept the whole night on the couch.”

The blush that bursts across Jughead’s cheeks confirms that Betty was right and she bites her lip in satisfaction. He clears his throat and says, “Speaking of which...is that coffee ready yet?”

Betty jumps up, turning around to find that the coffee, indeed, had finished brewing while they were plotting and, if she was being honest with herself, basically eye-fucking. “Yes,” she confirms, pulling two mugs out of her cabinet and pouring for both of them. 

“Here you go,” she says, locking eyes with Jug again as he moves forward to accept the mug. 

“Thanks,” he says, grabbing the milk from the fridge as Betty brings the sugar and comes to meet him at the table.

“You know,” Jughead says as he stirs thoughtfully. “It looks pretty nice out there today.”

Betty nods toward the window. Indeed, light is peaking through with promises that spring is just around the corner.

“Should we make this list?” Jughead asks. “Or, I guess, two lists.”

Betty nods, jumping back up again to grab a notepad from the fridge meant to make grocery lists. Cheryl had given it to her as a Christmas gift, so it’s adorned with cherries. “Okay, so based on the layout of the grocery store,” Betty says, ripping off two pieces of paper and uncapping her pen. “You take the produce, the meat and dairy sections. Eggs will be over there too. I can grab bread, baking supplies, canned goods, and the dreaded toilet paper.”

“And who’s getting the frozen food section?” Jughead asks. 

Betty rolls her eyes. “Must we?”

“You’re a snob,” Jughead says, taking a loud sip of his coffee in protest.

“Excuse you,” she says. “I thought you loved my cooking.”

“Of course I do,” Jughead says. “But who knows how long we’re gonna be in here! We might want to stock up on some, you know, Lean Cuisine or something, in case you get sick and I have to cook. Or...”

Betty laughs. “ _Fine_ , you have a point. The frozen food section I will leave to you.”

“Makes sense,” Jughead says, leaning back in his chair and shooting her an adorably boyish grin. “It _is_ my area of expertise, after all.”

By the time they finish their coffee, they’ve made quite a complex couple of lists. “Shall we get going?” Betty asks timidly. A tiny part of her is scared to leave, though she’s not sure why.

“Better to just get this over with,” Jughead agrees.

Betty nods. “Let me get dressed real quick. And I’ll grab my reusable bags from my room.”

“Ah, yes, that lovely new ordinance,” Jughead says.

“It’s good for the environment, technically,” Betty says as she rummages around in her closet for her tote bags and a fresh pair of leggings.

Jughead raises his voice as he launches into his rant. “Not as good as actually taxing the shit out of the fossil fuel companies who have, you know, contributed to possibly irreversible climate change, but…” 

“It’s a start!” Betty calls from the other room. “But like...can we have a Green New Deal now?” she adds loudly.

“You get me, Cooper!” Jughead calls back and Betty laughs. 

“Be right back!” she says before disappearing into the bathroom to change. 

* * *

When he imagined being with Betty, Jughead had certainly never expected the first time they held hands in public would be through a layer of medical-grade gloves. _But here we are._

It really is a sinfully gorgeous day, like the weather is taunting. _Stay inside, but remember what you’re missing_. Betty had been the one to reach for his hand first, and Jughead took it without even thinking. Now, as they round the corner and the grocery store sign looms, Jughead wishes this didn’t have to end. If only the walk was slightly longer, even though truly he knows it’s a blessing Betty has a grocery store so closeby to make this one essential trip as short as possible.

“Here goes nothing,” Betty says, stopping just a few feet short of the entrance.

Her voice is slightly muffled through the mask, and Jughead remembers why they concocted such a meticulous plan. He’s ready to get this the fuck over with and go back inside. He can’t wait to wash his hands again back in the safety of Betty’s apartment.

“We got this, Betty,” Jughead says, squeezing her hand. “In and out, real quick. We’ll be home before you know it.”

Betty breathes in and out, deep. “You’re right.” She drops his hand to pull her list out of her purse, adjusts the tote bag on her shoulder. “Got your list?”

Jughead digs into his back pocket and presents her with the crumpled-up list. “Got it.” 

“I’ll see you back out here then?” Betty says.

Jughead nods. “Good luck, Cooper,” he says with a mock salute. 

Betty giggles, handing him a second reusable bag. “Just in case you have any impulse purchases, thought you could use an extra bag.”

Jughead grins. “You are too kind. After you,” he gestures forward and Betty takes a deep breath before walking into the store, Jughead following closely behind.

Inside, they separate, Betty making a beeline for her assigned section. That focus again. Goddamnit if it doesn’t turn him on, especially now that he knows what it feels like to have her lips on his. _Focus, Jughead. In and out._ He picks up a basket from the stack inside the door and heads for where Betty said his first item would be. Like the incomparably smart human she is, Betty had ordered his list based on location within the store.

He tries not to lock eyes with anyone else, but that proves easier than expected. Everyone walks pretty quickly, keeping their eyes averted, getting what they need but moving it along. Like him, there are a couple other people wearing masks. Jughead speeds through most of his list quickly, adding things to the basket at an impressive rate.

His pace slows when he passes the next aisle and spots the Trojan sign out of the corner of his eye. He backtracks curiously, finding the aisle empty and standing fully in front of the condom display. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous; after all, they’d only just kissed for the first time that morning. But this is his one shot to grab condoms for awhile and they’ll be inside for so long...it’s a very real possibility they’ll need them eventually. And he isn’t sure if Betty has any at her place. Uninvited thoughts about what Betty’s sex life has looked like up until now burst into his head and almost in defiance his hand reaches aggressively forward to shove a 16-pack of feminine pleasure condoms into his basket. 

He turns quickly, headed toward where Betty said the eggs would be. He remembers to open the carton—no easy task in gloves—to make sure none are broken and then gingerly adds it to his full basket. He looks down at his list to confirm that the eggs were his last item. He breathes a sigh of relief, feels the itch of the mask against his neck. _I need to get the_ fuck _out of here._

He’s happy to see that the clerks at the register are all wearing masks and gloves too. They exchange overly polite pleasantries, Jughead taps his feet nervously when the chip reader takes that extra awkward second to process his payment. “Thank you so much,” Jughead says forcefully as he lifts his two bags off the belt, trying to convey as much of a smile as he can in this mask. He doesn’t know how else to express his appreciation for the risk this woman is taking every day, a risk she never really signed up to take as a grocery store worker. 

The clerk—a young black woman, early twenties he’d guess—seems to read his tone correctly because she nods appreciatively, her eyes kind. “Stay healthy,” she says before turning to the next customer.

Betty looks relieved when she sees him adjusting the two bags on his shoulders on the sidewalk.

“Ready?” she asks. 

“Yes,” Jughead says, smiling when he notices the 12-pack of toilet paper Betty has under one of her arms. “You managed to snag toilet paper?”

“I did,” Betty says, a mischievous look in her eyes. She offers her hand again, and Jughead takes it immediately. “Let’s go home,” she says, moving them forward without another word.

 _Home_. The word alone is enough to keep Jughead’s mind racing a million miles ahead during the whole—admittedly short—walk home.

It’s a relief to return to Betty’s apartment, though he knows he’ll miss the fresh air. They wash their hands immediately, the water hot and the soap applied generously. They unpack the groceries together, Betty directing him where everything goes. 

Betty makes absurdly tasty omelettes while Jughead reads her funny tweets. They eat at the kitchen table, feet touching as they talk about politics some more. 

After their late breakfast Betty and Jughead curl up on the couch again, each of them reading a book in some unspoken mutual agreement that Jughead finds strangely comforting. He’s too nervous to break this routine to define whatever’s happening between them. 

Betty grabs the blanket again, shooting him a deliberate grin as she places it over both their legs, before returning her focus to the page. Jughead shakes his head, looking back down at his own book, at the sentence he’s tried to read three times now. 

* * *

It’s a little past 5 when Jughead’s stomach rumbles loudly and Betty can’t help but laugh. She closes her book dramatically and Jughead looks up at her over his own book with a sheepish grin.

“Sorry,” he says. 

Betty shakes her head, putting the book down on the coffee table and stretching her arms up toward the ceiling. “Don’t apologize,” she says. “I’m hungry too. Maybe I can make us...a late lunch-dinner thing?”

Jughead laughs, carefully placing his receipt-acting-as-bookmark and shutting his book too. “I’m down,” he says. “What do you want to make?”

Betty’s actually been thinking about this for an hour now. “How do you feel about me making like, a shit ton of chili?” she asks. “We can put most of it in the fridge and have it for awhile.”

“Mmm, that sounds great,” he says. “Let’s do it!” 

He packs a bowl in the bong and sits at the table, watching Betty bustle around the kitchen. She’s made this recipe a million times, has most of the measurements memorized. Still, he makes her blush with his flirtatious jokes as she stirs the chili. Betty’s unsure how much longer they can get away with talking around anything real.

Jughead moans loudly at his first bite and the sound raises Betty’s eyebrows. Their eyes meet across the table. 

“Really good, Betts,” Jughead says after swallowing. Then, as if reading her mind: “Also...at some point maybe we should talk about…” Betty’s stomach clenches in excitement when he lifts one of his long fingers to gesture between the two of them.

“What’s going on between us?” Betty supplies, grinning.

“Yeah,” Jughead says, smiling down into his bowl before eating another generous spoonful of chili. They continue eating in silence for a few minutes, save for the clinking of spoons against bowls. 

“I have an idea,” Betty says. “I’m just gonna say it: we need to get super stoned. Maybe then it’ll be easier to just…”

“Open up?” Jughead supplies and Betty nods. 

“It’ll stop _me_ from overthinking, at least,” she adds, tugging on her hair, a nervous habit her mother used to always scold her for doing. 

“You and me both,” Jughead says, a relieved tone in his voice that relaxes Betty’s shoulders.

* * *

After dinner, a series of back-to-back bowls have Betty and Jughead coughing on the couch, wisps of smoke floating toward the corners of the room. They’re both sitting cross-legged and facing each other, knees just touching as Jughead places the cashed bong back onto the coffee table. He reaches for Betty’s hands, joining them across that small space between their bodies.

“Are you high enough, Betts?” Jughead asks, looking into her eyes and grinning at how red they are. 

Betty can’t help but laugh, biting her lip. “Yeah,” she says. “I think I am.” 

Jughead squeezes her hand and he notices Betty’s eyes wander toward their intertwined hands with a goofy look that spurs Jughead on.

He clears his throat. “I’ll go first.” Betty’s gaze quickly returns to his face. “You know, yesterday morning,” Jughead continues. “When you asked me how I slept on the couch?”

Betty nods. “Yeah, you kind of hesitated,” she remembers.

Jughead sighs. “Ah you noticed,” he says, a bit defeatedly. “That’s because I was talking myself out of saying what I really wanted to.”

Betty gives him an inquisitive, maybe even excited look. “Oh, come on, now you _have_ to tell me.”

Jughead averts his eyes, embarrassed. “Okay, okay. I wanted to say, ‘you tryna get me to sleep in bed with you, Cooper?’ But I...chickened out.”

Betty bursts out laughing. “Wow, that would’ve been quite forward.” She seems to think for a second before looking back down at their intertwined hands. “I think I would’ve liked it though.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jughead says.

Betty nods, daring to look back at him. “Yeah,” she confirms quietly. “My turn, right?”

Jughead nods but says nothing more. 

“Well, if we’re confessing to things...I can tell you that yesterday when Archie called, I thought…” she stops. “Ugh, this is so embarrassing.”

Jughead can’t handle that forlorn look on Betty’s face, so he leans forward and kisses her instead. She smiles into the kiss, her hand slipping out of his and instead cupping his face. When he pulls back, she says, “What was that for?”

“Nothing you can say right now will change how much I want to kiss you,” Jughead says. “I just thought you needed a reminder.”

Betty nods, grinning. “Okay,” she says. “So, last night when you got that phone call,” she sighs. “You know, before you told me it was Archie calling, I was scared it was like...some other girl you’re seeing calling to check in with you. I thought, here Jughead is, alone in my apartment, and we’re having like, so much fun. The other shoe has to drop eventually.” 

Jughead’s heart hurts at her words. He can empathize with them all too well. Jughead reaches forward to cup Betty’s face in his hands. “There’s no other girl, Betty,” Jughead says. “You’re the only girl I think about.”

This time, Betty’s the one who launches forward to close the gap, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss. Betty straddles Jughead easily, tangling her hands in his hair as she grinds down on him. He groans at the contact, tries to keep up with the frantic nature of everything that’s happening right now—it’s like neither of them can get enough, using tongues and lips and fingers to bring each other closer. It’s tantalizing and addicting, even with both of them fully-clothed. 

Jughead flips them eventually, moving to cover Betty’s body with his own as she looks up at him with pure desire. She takes his chin in his hands before he can start kissing her again. “Let’s go to my bed,” she whispers, pushing up on her elbows. 

“Are you sure?” he says. He moves to sit up, letting Betty disentangle herself and get to her feet. “Because I get it if you want to...like, create boundaries. Whatever this...this thing between us is, I don’t want to like, ruin it by moving too fast…”

Betty’s drag on his arm toward her bed really speaks for itself. Still, she looks him straight in the eye, and adds, “If we’re gonna be making out all the time, I can’t have you waking up with a crick in your neck every morning, can I?”

He grins, stopping her in place right before her bed and grabbing her face in his hands. She moans into his mouth and he takes the opportunity to push her back gently onto the bed. 

All bets are off now, Betty helping him out of his shirt before pushing her own over her head. Jughead’s eyes light up, Betty somehow even more gorgeous shirtless than he could’ve imagined, chest heaving in a simple black bra. Betty grins up at him, clearly satisfied by the way he’s devouring her with his eyes. She starts peppering kisses along Jughead’s neck. He groans appreciatively but pauses, hovering above her.

“What are we doing though, Betty?” Jughead asks, internally wondering why he’s even questioning this.

Betty shrugs, pulling back to look into his eyes. He’s never seen that kind of care turned his way before. “Do you ever get super stoned and daydream about making out with someone you have a total crush on?”

Jughead laughs, face reddening. “That was the last thing I expected you to say,” he admits. “But, yes. I have. Many times, in fact.”

“Same,” Betty says, reaching up to cup his chin again. “I’m super stoned and the person who is always the star of those daydreams is in my bed.”

The next kiss Jughead plants on Betty’s lips is the most forceful they’ve shared yet and it catches both of them a little off guard. They’re both breathing heavily as Jughead lets himself settle more comfortably over Betty’s body, her legs curling around to lock him in place. 

Somehow, the next thirty minutes pass both in slow motion and altogether too fast. The feeling of Betty’s hands brushing across his chest, gripping onto his back as he plays with her nipples, carding through his hair as their lips come together again—all of it is only magnified by the cloudy haze they’re still under. He feels free, weightless. 

The softness of her blankets, topless and exploring for the first time, the highest he’s been in weeks. It’s no wonder their kisses slow, both of them admitting they’ve tired themselves out. 

“We smoked too much indica,” Betty says mournfully, pressing a kiss to his cheek and smiling shyly. Jughead still has her in his arms. He likes the feel of it and how Betty seems to melt so naturally into his embrace too.

“That’s okay,” Jughead says. “I honestly think there’s nothing more appropriate for our first Saturday night in quarantine than to pass out early.”

Betty giggles. “That’s the spirit.”

After taking turns in the bathroom, Jughead finds himself turning off Betty’s bedside lamp and settling into her bed, the big spoon to her adorable, curled-up little spoon. 24 hours in quarantine feels like a goddamn lifetime.

4.

**march 15, 2020**

Betty literally snorts aloud when she wakes up to feel Jughead’s arms snaked tightly around her waist, his head tucked into her shoulder. _Here we are again._ However, the bed had been a vast upgrade from the accidental shared-couch. And she doesn’t think she’ll ever tire of the feel of Jughead’s soft body fitting around hers. 

The only thing nagging at her is the fact that they never quite got around to having That Talk, instead choosing to soak up their stoned moment with some of the hottest making out she’d ever experienced. She wants to get back into it, go further, but she knows she’ll never be able to lose herself fully in being with Jughead if they don’t discuss what’s happening between them first. Especially when they’re confined to this very small space for the foreseeable future.

She feels Jughead stirring when he brushes his lips lightly across her shoulder, the back of her neck. “Mmm,” she says, turning around in Jughead’s arms to face him. She curls a lock of hair around her finger and grins at him shyly. “Hi.”

“Hey, you,” Jughead responds in that groggy morning voice Betty has always found arousing. 

“How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty amazingly. It’s crazy what getting really stoned and fooling around with your dream girl in an actual bed can do for your REM cycle,” Jughead says.

Betty bursts out laughing, blushing as Jughead grins at her, rubbing her shoulder gently. She wonders if he even knows what he’s doing to her. 

“So,” Betty says at the same time Jughead says, “Well-”

“No, you go first,” Betty says.

“Okay,” Jughead clears his throat. “I can’t help but notice that, while last night was a wonderfully fun time-”

“Oh, I had a _great_ time,” Betty agrees, smiling still. She’s quite certain she’s never met someone who can bring a smile to her face this consistently before Jughead.

“But, unfortunately, it did come to my attention that the getting-overly-stoned thing didn’t _quite_ work as planned,” Jughead continues, and Betty nods, relieved that he’d said it first. “I mean, we got...distracted, shall we say?”

Betty laughs, burying her face in his chest. “I can’t help it if you’re distracting,” she says. She lifts her eyes again to find Jughead smirking at her. Maybe it’s her turn to go first now. “Look, whatever this thing is, Jughead,” she says, before she can overthink it. “I want it to be real. I like you, a lot. More than I’ve...ever liked anyone.”

“Me too,” Jughead says, grinning and grabbing Betty’s hands and pressing a kiss to each one. “I’ve been dancing around how much I like you for so long. I can’t wait anymore.” 

Betty isn’t sure she’s ever felt this simultaneously shocked and excited at the same time. “I’ve liked you...basically since you moved here,” she admits, face reddening a bit under his gaze. 

He slaps his palm against his forehead. “What the fuck is wrong with us that a literal global pandemic was what it took for us to tell each other how we feel?”

Betty giggles, planting a sweet kiss on his cheek. “Look, for whatever reason, I guess that’s what it took for us to have this moment.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t analyze too hard why this is the path the universe had in store for us,” Jughead says and Betty giggles again. 

“Agreed,” she says. “All we can control is the future. Let’s just...be honest going forward about how we’re feeling. And that goes for the good and the bad. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jughead says, sealing their little pact with another kiss that quickly devolves into more tangling in the sheets.

They do eventually get up and spend their first day ‘dating’ in a state of what Betty can only call domestic bliss. There’s making out on the couch, laughing at a sitcom over bowls of soup for lunch, lots of teasing and excuses to touch.

Jughead thumbs through her vinyl collection and dusts off the record player Betty hasn’t had the chance to use in months. Soon, they’re dancing around the living room to Nina Simone, passing a joint back and forth, stealing kisses. Jughead almost spins Betty into her bookshelf and Betty teases him about making it out of the quarantine in one piece. 

They tire themselves out and watch some more TV, closely intertwined on the couch. And then they’re kissing again. In fact, they can’t keep their hands off each other.

The second time they try to decide what to eat for dinner, it results in Jughead’s hands under Betty’s bra. “How are we gonna work from home tomorrow?” Betty asks, breathless, and they both laugh at the absurdity of it all.

* * *

They settle on ordering from the local pizza joint, wanting to keep the dollars flowing in the local neighborhood. They tip extra on the app and Jughead answers the door in a mask and gloves, Lysoling the doorknobs at Betty’s request while she unpacks the food. As he cleans the outside of Betty’s door, Jughead can’t help but think, _if things work out between us, we’re gonna have some_ wild _times explaining how we met._

“I have to bake,” Betty says declaratively when he returns to the kitchen after locking the door behind him.

“Oh?” he says. “In a getting-baked way or a making-cookies way?”

Betty laughs, stooping down to grab a cookie sheet out of the drawer under her oven. “A little bit of both, I guess. I always bake before debates,” she explains, pulling chocolate chips, sugar, and flour out of the cabinet. “For the stress-eating. How else am I expected to handle Joe Biden’s existence?”

“Very fair point, Betts,” Jughead says, smiling proudly at her. Could he have found a more perfect woman if he’d _tried_? “And I never complain about your cooking, let alone your chocolate chip cookies.” He’d almost forgotten there was a presidential debate. Because yes, of course, there’s still a primary, despite the raging pandemic. 

“Yay!” Betty says. “Let’s eat this pizza and then I’ll get to baking before it starts.”

There’s nothing like watching something political with Betty, because they’re always on the same wavelength in a way he never is with any of his other friends. And this debate gives them a lot of fuel.

Betty has to pass off the bong to Jughead in order to properly scream when Biden says he’d “rather not talk about politics.” “This is a _debate_ , you motherfucker!” Betty screams. “You don’t just get to be ordained the nominee because the entire establishment lined up behind you like the corporate sell-outs they are!”

Jughead passes her the bong when she relaxes back next to him. “Sorry,” she huffs.

“Sorry is for people who are wrong,” Jughead counters, planting a sweet kiss on her forehead. “And you, Betty, are _not_ wrong.”

Betty giggles. “Thanks, Jug.”

They break into the cookies around the time Joe Biden just starts blatantly lying about his voting record, leaving Bernie to implore the audience to look up the truth. “How can he just openly lie to the American public when you can so easily prove he’s lying?!” Jughead yells through a mouthful of cookies.

“Because he knows the corporate media won’t press him on it!” Betty yells, shoving another cookie in her mouth. “This country is fucking maddening.”

Archie FaceTimes Jughead just around the time they’re really nailing in on the healthcare debate. “Oh, really, Joe? People deserve free healthcare _only_ during a pandemic?!” Betty screams just as Jughead answers the call.

Archie laughs loudly. “Hey, guys. See, now this is why I called. Just wanted a little taste of what I’m missing.”

Betty turns around at Archie’s voice and laughs, blushing a little. “Oh, hey, Arch. You watching this?”

Archie shakes his head bashfully. “With you two not around, I have decided to pass on this one,” he says. “But I saw some stuff on Twitter and knew you two would be watching so I had to check in.”

Jughead laughs. “Bernie is on fire and Biden is just straight-up lying, you’re not missing much.” 

Archie groans. “How is Joe Biden still in the race? I’ll never understand.”

Jughead grabs another cookie as Betty screams at Biden’s assertion that people want “results, not a revolution.” “Everything in this country that has been transformational or good has come about due to social movements!” Betty screams and Jughead laughs. God, he’s so into this girl.

“And on that note, I’ll leave you two to it,” Archie says, laughing. 

Betty waves half-heartedly at the screen, so engrossed in the back-and-forth, and Jughead takes a moment just to watch her. He can’t believe he has the privilege to be here, having such an unabashed version of Betty all to himself.

When the debate ends, they’re both still pretty pumped up. Witnessing corporate media balking at Bernie’s suggestions of providing basic essential needs to the working class during a global pandemic will do that to ya. 

Betty throws her shirt off to change for bed in a huff and Jughead stops her in place. “Hey, beautiful,” he says, eyes trailing over her body appreciatively, and he wishes he could take a photo of the look Betty gives him in return.

“Hey, Jug,” she says shyly, opening her arms as if presenting her breasts to him. 

“Wanna work off some of that debate energy?” he asks, eyebrows quirking suggestively as he openly checks her out.

Betty giggles, the sweetest sound to his ears. “I’m so trash for this, but nothing has ever sounded hotter.”

Jughead laughs, coming forward and cupping Betty’s boobs as she moans, his breath in her ear. “Get on the bed,” he rasps. 

“Where did this come from?” Betty says, settling herself in the bed and watching him as he pulls his clothes off. “Not that I’m complaining. I like it.”

Jughead grins, pulling his shirt off over his head. “Something about you getting all passionate and worked up does it for me, Cooper.”

He finally joins her on the bed, crawling forward until his body covers Betty’s, only underwear between them. “I could say the same about you,” Betty whispers as they look into each other’s eyes.

They reach for each other at the same time, getting lost once again. He concentrates on Betty, tweaking at her nipples as he kisses her, dick twitching at the deep moan Betty lets out each time he tweaks just right. She’s the one who pushes his hand lower and he bites back a grin. He should’ve known she’d be like this. It’s hotter than he could’ve imagined.

She practically shoves him into her underwear and he finds her so wet that he groans as his finger swipes across her slit. She cries out. “You like that?” Jughead says and Betty responds by kissing him enthusiastically, moaning into his mouth as he continues fingering her. 

Betty adjusts his finger just once and then whines, “ _Yes_. Right there,” she breathes. He finds the pace pretty quickly then, and soon his face is flush as Betty cries out, “Don’t stop” followed by “ _so_ close” followed by the absolute sexiest thing he’s ever witnessed as Betty falls apart below him.

As she comes down, riding her orgasm on his fingers, her hands clasp onto him tightly, as if he’s an anchor. She laughs as she collapses back onto the pillows, Jughead finally removing his fingers and grinning down at her, sated and naked in the sheets. 

“Do you have condoms?” Betty asks, smiling.

“Um...yes. I may have bought some earlier,” Jughead admits, blushing a little, though he’s not really sure why. After all, he had just brought Betty to orgasm a minute earlier.

“Good,” Betty says, grinning, and Jughead forgets any embarrassment, leaping up to find the bag he remembers tucking in his duffle hastily when they returned from the grocery store.

When he returns to the bed, Betty is crouched on all-fours, her back to him. _Jesus fucking Christ._ “Do you mind?” she asks innocently, turning her head as she watches him rip open the packaging and rip a condom off the sheet. “It’s my favorite position.”

Jughead rolls the condom down his dick, openly gaping at Betty’s arched back on display for him. “Is that even a question? Of course I don’t mind,” Jughead says, cupping her ass as he comes to join Betty on the bed. He reaches forward and rubs her clit, making her whine.

“Still wet for me?” he murmurs.

“ _Always_ ,” Betty says and for the millionth time that day, Jughead can’t believe he’s here. The implication that she’s thought of him this way before has him feeling things.

He grabs hold of her hips, finally pushing into her from behind and groaning. She lets out her own moan as he begins thrusting. “You’re so tight,” he says through gritted teeth. 

He doesn’t last long, but Betty’s cries of pleasure make him think she doesn’t mind. He reaches forward to rub at her clit when he feels himself almost there, and it seems to bring Betty over the edge. Soon he’s crying out and everything’s blurry wonderfulness but he hears Betty breath, almost rapturously, “Oh, _Jug_.”

Betty cleans herself up quickly afterwards, though not before giving him a sound kiss on the lips. He disposes of the condom and takes his turn in the bathroom, unable to believe that in the course of four days, he’s gone from secretly crushing on Betty Cooper to having the best sex of his life with her.

She’s smiling at him when he returns to the bed. “That was so amazing,” she says, the satisfaction on her face matching how he feels. 

“You wore me out, Cooper,” he jokes as he comes to join her, closing his eyes when she peppers kisses across his face.

“It _is_ a work night, after all, Jones,” Betty counters, turning on her side to assume the little-spoon position. “No shame in sleeping.”

“I know what I’ll be dreaming about,” Jughead murmurs into Betty’s hair, pressing a kiss to her neck as he settles behind her. 

Jughead switches off the lamp for what he realizes is now the second night in a row. He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, y’all, now that we got some of THAT out of the way...I have a lot of really cute Quarantine Date Cuteness coming up that I’m excited to write!!! Also, the timeline is going to speed up - future chapters will begin to represent roughly one week in quarantine each. It kind of reflects the way i’ve been viewing this time - at first, every day felt so significant. Then, as we all slowly settled into this routine, the days and weeks have started to blend together. 
> 
> Oh, and shout out to the grocery workers at my local grocery store; they’re very kind and like to tease my adorable boyfriend and I modeled the clerks after them <3 
> 
> AND another fun fact: when I was growing up my mom used to design our grocery lists based on where items were in the store, and for the longest time that was how I envisioned our ShopRite. So that detail was a lil homage to my amazing mom, who has been essentially furloughed/laid off during this hard time. 
> 
> Anyway, hope y’all are hanging in there and that you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you thought and I’ll see ya next time <3
> 
> xo
> 
> Maria


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty and Jughead adjust to their first full week of working from home — and to their budding relationship. 
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: note the new tags! as we start getting into how quarantine affects Betty’s anxiety, there will be mentions of anxiety attacks and self-harm. Nobody is dealing with this shit 100% well so i poured some of my own experiences with anxiety during this pandemic in here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! It’s been a rough fucking week in fandom huh? Not gonna lie, it affected my mental health quite a bit. I talked to my therapist about it, I took some time off from writing when I felt blocked, but I’m not giving up. I won’t be watching Riverdale for the foreseeable future (MAYBE if they fix this mess but we shall see.) But, hey, when canon disappoints you, keep pouring your passion for these characters and this iconic relationship into fic! So, here I am and I have no plans of going anywhere.
> 
> In case you want to follow along, toward the beginning of this chapter Betty and Jug discuss this viral/hilarious piece of info NYC.gov put out: https://www1.nyc.gov/assets/doh/downloads/pdf/imm/covid-sex-guidance.pdf

5\. 

**march 16, 2020**

It’s hard to focus.

For one thing, the very air in which Betty and Jughead are now existing is sexually-charged, imbued with the light and significance of a new relationship blooming. Even under these weird circumstances, Betty feels it in every little glance or touch between them. It’s exhilarating and Betty has never been more distracted from her work in her entire—albeit short—professional life. She spends a full minute staring at Jughead’s fingers as he absently twirls his pen around while reading a manuscript.

If it isn’t Jughead letting his hand linger on Betty’s arm a moment too long on his way to the bathroom, then it’s an unnecessary email from Trev checking in on her IT set-up, or, most pressingly, incessant messages from Toni and Veronica expecting answers after her near-radio silence over the weekend. 

Betty can’t deny she’s been kind of dodging Toni and Veronica’s texts, giving noncommittal responses occasionally to keep them semi-satisfied. But she’s been busy...with Jughead. And it’s just _weird_ to tell them this kind of shit over text. It’s not like she can exactly _videochat_ them about Jughead...while quarantined with Jughead. It’s an impossible situation, truly. 

**TONI:** you’re quiet, Cooper...too quiet.

**VERONICA:** if you don’t answer soon, i’m gonna tip a postmates driver extra to deliver food to your door just to send me his observations.

**TONI:** i’ll try to stop her but you better hurry, Betty. spill the tea! 

“You look sexy when you do that,” Jughead says and Betty snaps up from where she’d been spacing out into her computer screen, hovering over her G-chat with Toni and Veronica, trying to come up with something to reply.

“Do what?” she asks, her face flooding with heat at the look in his eyes. It’s one of the many new expressions she’d unlocked over the weekend, like precious gifts she hopes she gets to keep.

“When you get lost in your own little world,” Jughead says, leaning back in his chair a bit as he, once again, twirls his pen between his fingers. “Even when you’re worrying.”

Betty shakes her head. “Hard not to worry these days,” she says.

“Fair,” Jughead concedes.

“I’m mostly just missing my co-workers though, you know? I know it’s only my second day working from home but it’s just…not the same without them.” She loves the way Jughead watches her when she’s talking, attention undivided.

“I don’t have nearly as awesome co-workers as you, Betty,” Jughead says cynically. “But I sympathize with your sentiment.”

Betty smiles. “Get back to work, you.” She jokingly flips her hair over her shoulder. “BRB, gonna tell Toni and Veronica my new co-worker is even more distracting than they are.”

Betty counts it a success that Jughead blushes a little, an all-too-pleased little smile on his face as he buries his nose again in the manuscript. A devious look on her own face, she calmly returns to typing on her laptop.

**BETTY:** oh, V, if you must- i think jug said something about craving mexican earlier.

* * *

Jughead glances down again at his phone, resting on the huge manuscript balanced in his lap. Archie’s unanswered texts are glaring back at him, a near-constant stream all morning so far. Has his oldest friend always been this needy, or is the quarantine getting to him?

**ARCHIE:** how you doing jug?

**JUGHEAD:** alright. work’s okay, just trying to adjust to working from home. Hbu?

**ARCHIE:** im doing ok, on my creative vibe. 

**ARCHIE:** are you exercising? I bet betty has weights and stuff so you guys can stay in shape.

**ARCHIE:** seriously, how is staying with betty going? are you guys getting along okay?

For hours now, Jughead has been trying to answer Archie’s questions truthfully without fully answering them. He’s not really sure why, but he feels weird telling Archie about what’s going on between him and Betty. Maybe it’s because they hadn’t exactly discussed whether they would tell other people. Or maybe it’s another part of him, a part of him he isn’t particularly proud of, that’s scared of what Archie’s reaction will be. _It’s pure misogyny,_ Jughead reminds himself, _for me to assume that Archie would think he has any sort of claim on Betty just because they’re old college friends. Plus, Betty made it clear she’s never had_ any _interest in him._

“You want more coffee, Jug?” Betty’s gentle voice says, interrupting Jughead’s raging thoughts.

He grins at the expectant look on her face and the way she’s been more unabashedly observing him since they’d confessed their feelings to each other. “Yeah, I’d love some,” he says. “Thanks, Betts.”

He watches Betty grab their empty mugs off the table and walk to the counter before shaking his head and closing out of his text conversation with Archie. He’ll deal with that later.

* * *

Calling Veronica’s bluff has always been the way to go. So far, no stray Mexican food has shown up at their door. And now, Betty’s window of opportunity is here—if she wants it.

Jughead had to get on a staff-wide conference call right after lunch, opting to sit on Betty’s bed in the far corner of the apartment so as not to distract Betty from her own work. She bites her lip. She’d honestly kind of love to share this exhilarating feeling with someone, even if she doesn’t trust Toni or Veronica to have quiet reactions if she were to Zoom-call them right now and break the news. Is it _wrong_ of her to tell Toni and Veronica about this before they’ve technically discussed labels or telling other people? 

Jughead laughs across the apartment and Betty grins, thinking of the way he’d laughed when teasing her in bed earlier that day. She can’t help it; pushing aside her own hesitations about revealing major information over text, Betty finally answers Toni’s latest taunting question, a devious grin on her face. 

**TONI:** you know what your silence tells me, my love? that the real question at this point is really not if y’all did anything but how far you went

**BETTY:** ok ok ok you got me. Jug finally left the room so i’ll tell you

**TONI:** does this mean you’re gonna call us?

**VERONICA:** no, no, toni. you haven’t known betty as long as i have. she had to wait because she’s gonna be blushing so hard while even just typing it that he would’ve noticed if he was sitting across from her

**BETTY:** ugh v is not wrong

**TONI:** lmao

**VERONICA:** so what’s the tea B???

**BETTY:** he kissed me

**VERONICA:** !!!!!!

**TONI:** AND??????

**BETTY:** and everything. I think we’re...dating? we had definitely the hottest sex i’ve ever had.

**TONI:** holy SHIT! get it betty!

**VERONICA:** you are having the best quarantine of anyone i know

Betty shakes her head, laughing down at her phone and refusing to budge on letting her delinquent friends videochat her. She can hear Jughead chiming in on his conference call in the distance and she can’t risk fucking anything up with him. Still, part of her is really excited to share this with someone, as the conversation flies back and forth, Veronica and Toni peppering her with questions and suggestive emojis. Thank God they were already in the habit of messaging each other on their personal emails at work and not on their company server or they’d be so, ironically, screwed.

* * *

“You mind if I put the news on?” Jughead asks, popping a tortilla chip in his mouth as Betty finishes preparing their chicken quesadilla dinner in the kitchen.

Betty sighs. “Ugh, yeah, go for it.”

Jughead gets up and switches Betty’s TV on, carrying the remote back to the kitchen table with him as he changes the channel and turns up the volume. They’re talking about tomorrow’s presidential primary. Jughead tsks his disapproval, crunching on another chip.

“What’s the word?” Betty asks. “Is anyone else following Ohio’s lead and postponing their primary?”

Jughead groans. “Nope,” he says, letting the “p” harden in the air. “Florida, Illinois, and Arizona are all going ahead with in-person primaries tomorrow.”

Betty sighs. “Nothing more democratic than risking your own health during a global pandemic to choose between the guy who thinks we should have universal healthcare and the guy who doesn’t.”

“It’s just...such a wash. Because what is Bernie supposed to do? He’s not gonna tell people to risk their health. It would essentially be contradicting his entire platform,” Jughead says again, dunking a chip in salsa.

Betty laughs, pulling the quesadillas out of the oven. “You rage-eating tortilla chips over the 2020 Democratic primary is actually pretty hot,” she says, shooting him one of those looks that gives him butterflies. Like, seriously, he thought that whole “butterflies” concept was an overexaggerated metaphor until Betty. 

“I am who I am, Betty,” Jughead says, standing up as Betty starts taking plates out of the cabinet. “Anything I can do to help?” he asks. 

“Grab sour cream out of the fridge?” she responds and he quickly makes himself useful. 

Soon, they’re sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table, eating and making cynical political jokes as they watch the news.

“I just can’t…” Betty says and Jughead grins at her.

“I feel a Betty rant coming on,” he says. “Come on, let it out. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Okay,” she says, breathing in deep before launching into her tirade. “I just can’t believe people are actually gonna go out there tomorrow, risking infection during a global pandemic, to vote for a candidate who doesn’t think you should have access to universal healthcare if you get sick! Make it make sense!”

Jughead laughs, reaching for the remote and flipping through the channels. “Maybe we should change it up. That’s enough primary coverage for now.” He stops when he finds Mayor De Blasio speaking on one of the local news channels.

“What’s goin’ on, Bill?” Jughead says as he rests the remote back down on the table. 

Betty giggles. “Cancel April rent, Bill!” she heckles.

Both their smiles quickly fade when they come to the sobering realization that De Blasio is answering questions about the closure of NYC public schools. It’s another one of those unprecedented announcements that kicks Jughead in the gut. Betty looks similarly affected, both of them eating quietly and listening for a bit.

“I just can’t believe that we were at Kevin’s cabaret show less than a week ago,” Betty says. “And now public schools are closed for the foreseeable future.”

“It’s surreal,” Jughead says, at a loss for words otherwise. Suddenly he feels this incredible gratefulness to be in this apartment, in Betty’s cozy little corner of the world, just the two of them. So he says it, looking away from the TV to lock eyes with Betty. “I’m just so glad I’m dealing with this with you.”

Betty’s eyes soften and she reaches across the table to clasp his hand. “Me too, Jug,” she says. 

They just stay like that for a bit, the mayor’s words disintegrating into the background as they drink each other in, holding hands and taking a minute to breathe. 

When Betty breaks the silence to clear their plates, Jughead gets up too, switching off the TV and following Betty to clean the dishes. “What do you say we turn the news off after dinner as a rule?” Jughead says, turning on the sink and grabbing his now-trusty sponge. 

Betty brings him the rest of the utensils from the table. “I like that idea,” Betty says. “We can’t take in the news all the time. The human brain isn’t made to take in that much information.”

“I think you’ve told me that one before,” Jughead says, raising his voice a bit to be heard above the water as he scrubs down their dinner plates. “We should do something tonight to take our minds off everything.”

“I can think of something,” Betty says, an unmistakable flirtatious lilt to her voice that has Jughead speeding up his cleaning.

They collapse side-by-side in Betty’s bed, both looking up at her shoddily-painted ceiling as they come down from their respective orgasms.

“Holy shit,” Betty says, one hand still clasping Jughead’s and the other over her forehead. “That was _so_ _good_.”

Jughead grins, propping himself up on an elbow and leaning down to kiss Betty. “Can’t agree more,” he says, kissing her cheek before getting up to dispose of the condom. He collapses back down next to Betty, still sinfully naked and looking peaceful with her eyes closed. Out of habit, Jughead starts scrolling through Twitter.

When he bursts out laughing a couple minutes later, Betty’s eyes finally float open. “What?” she says teasingly, watching him curiously.

“Did you see that New York City released guidelines on sex during the coronavirus outbreak?” Jughead asks, laughing again as he continues to scan the PDF being heavily discussed on Twitter at the moment.

Betty finally sits up and Jughead joins her, scooting close as they read through the document together. “‘ _You_ are your safest sex partner. Masturbation will not spread COVID-19’,” Betty reads, laughing. “Gee, thanks, NYC.gov. Wasn’t sure.”

Jughead gasps. “Nope, Betty, you haven’t gotten to the best part yet.” Jughead watches Betty’s eyes scan farther down the page before clasping her hand over her mouth and laughing. 

“Shall I do a dramatic reading?” Jughead asks and Betty nods, still laughing.

“‘Rimming (mouth on anus),’” Jughead starts and Betty’s laughter only grows louder when he dramatically pauses. “‘ _might_ spread COVID-19. Virus in feces may enter your mouth.’”

“Oh my God,” Betty says. “Look, that’s actually really good information. But...I just...I didn’t know the government would get that specific about individual sex acts.”

“The people need to know, Betty!” Jughead says. “Kink-same, not kink-shame!”

Betty laughs. “Wow, I needed that laugh.” She moves to get up. “But those guidelines _did_ remind me that I need to clean up my business.” 

“Twenty seconds with soap and water, Betty,” Jughead says in an official-sounding voice and Betty shakes her head with laughter. She stoops down to find her discarded tank top and sleep shorts on the floor. 

“Hey, wait, before you go,” Jughead says. “Symptom check?”

Betty shakes her head. “Besides my usual weed-smoker’s cough, I honestly feel fine still.”

Jughead nods. “Same. Well, I guess that’s good. Because this document says we should ‘skip sex’ if we’re feeling unwell.”

Betty laughs. “Oh, thank God. We’re safe for another day.” She stands there for a minute. “Nope, definitely still no symptoms. Well, great symptom check, Jug.” She laughs once more before disappearing into the bathroom.

6.

**march 17, 2020**

They wake up to pouring rain again. Betty groans and throws the covers over her face, trying to hide from reality.

“This is not making the work-from-home thing any easier,” she says, her voice muffled by the comforter.

Jughead dives under the covers to join her, placing a kiss on her nose, then her forehead. She giggles. “Would it help if I showered first?” Jughead asks sweetly.

Betty grins, taking in his sleepy face and messed-up hair as he smiles questioningly at her underneath the floral comforter. She feels so safe here with him. “Yeah,” she finally answers, leaning forward to place a careful kiss on his lips. “I think it might.”

While Jughead’s in the shower, Kevin calls. It’s not a FaceTime, which she notes as unusual. Betty picks the call up while waiting for the coffee to brew. “Hi! How you doing, Kev?” she asks. 

“Ugh, Betty,” his distressed voice returns. “I think I have it. Starting to have some mild symptoms.”

“Oh, no!” Betty says. “Although I guess that was to be expected?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Kevin says, sighing. “But Fangs thinks I have a milder case than him at least. My main symptoms are a fever and a lack of smell and taste.”

“Oh God, you can’t taste anything?” Betty frowns, feeling for her friend. 

“Nope,” Kevin says, sighing. “Apparently a very common symptom for more mild cases.”

“That so sucks,” Betty says. “But hopefully it stays this mild and you can rest and stay inside and be better soon. Right?”

“Right,” Kevin says. “My dad has a friend who’s a nurse, he’s gonna have her text me later.”

“I’m so sorry, Kev. I hope the nurse can help,” Betty says. “How’s Fangs doing?”

“Pretty much the same,” Kevin says. “But hopefully he’ll start doing better soon. It is what it is, I just wanted to give you an update.” He pauses for a minute then says, “Hey, but help me take my mind off things. How are you and Jughead doing?”

“Well, neither of us are sick, it seems.” Betty pauses, wrestling with whether to tell him everything. She’s not sure how obvious her crush has been all this time. “We…”

The door to the bathroom opens and Betty turns to see Jughead emerging fully-dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. “What? We what?” Kevin says on the other end of the phone but Betty’s distracted, having locked eyes with Jughead immediately. 

“Who’s on the phone?” Jughead mouths and Betty finally speaks again, “Kevin, Jughead just walked in the room.” She quickly flips the call to speakerphone. 

“Hey, Kevin!” Jughead calls, grabbing his laptop off the coffee table and bringing it to the kitchen table. 

“Hey, Jughead,” Kevin says. “I should go rest, but I was just giving you an update on my...condition. Betty can catch you up to speed.”

“Okay,” Jughead says, looking bewildered. Betty tries not to laugh. “Bye, Kevin!” he adds.

“Feel better, Kev, I’ll talk to you later!” Betty calls into the phone before hanging up. 

Jughead shoots her an inquisitive look. “He’s sick?”

Betty nods sadly. “So it seems, yes. Coffee should be ready any minute.” Jughead gives her a peck on the lips as she walks past him to take her own turn in the shower, and she thinks she could get used to this.

“God fucking _dammit_!” Betty screeches, slamming her hand down on her laptop. Hard. She can feel the sting reverberating through her palm and it scares her. She hasn’t self-harmed in _months_ but that same feeling of temporary relief is rushing through her as she tries to catch her breath. 

“Are you okay, Betty?” Jughead asks softly and it’s the first time his gentleness has irritated her instead of comforted. A pit of anxiety builds in her stomach and she refuses to look him in the eyes.

“Maybe if my fucking boss would actually _read_ my emails instead of skimming them, I wouldn’t have to constantly” she bangs her hand down again on the table, a little lighter but still loud enough for Jughead to jump a bit. “repeat myself!” she finishes in another little screech and Betty can feel herself losing control. The pit in her stomach only deepens and her vision blurs as she starts concentrating on only her breathing, now coming out ragged. 

“Betty!” she can hear Jughead’s voice as if farther away than it is. “You have to breathe.” 

For some reason, coming up like bile, she snaps back, “Really, Jughead? I should _breathe?_ Thanks for the advice.”

She can’t look Jughead straight in the face but Betty just knows his face has fallen. She regrets it instantly, shutting her eyes and trying to concentrate on her breathing like her therapist taught her to regain control. Why did she just snap at Jughead like he was Polly or Alice in her worst moments? Why can some frustrations roll off her back but others make her feel like she’s once again trapped in her toxic childhood home? 

When Betty opens her eyes a minute later, her breathing having slowed somewhat, the bong is set down in front of her, fully-packed with a fresh bowl of weed. Jughead has walked away from the table, the door to the bathroom closed. Betty lets a tear roll down her cheek and picks up the bong, shakily lighting the bowl and breathing out smoke with relief. She glances back at the email that set her off and shakes her head, pushing her chair back from the table. _And that’s lunch._

Betty focuses on her breathing and smokes on the couch. Jughead emerges from the bathroom again a few minutes later and gives her a tentative smile. “You feeling any better, Betts?” he asks, and Betty can’t believe he has the same gentle tone to his voice when she’d been such a monster only minutes earlier.

“I’m so sorry I snapped at you,” she blurts out. “I...I let my anxiety and this situation get to me. I’m sorry. I haven’t…”

Jughead shakes his head, joining her on the couch with a steadying hand resting on her shoulder. “Betty, my sister has an anxiety disorder too. I get it. Not gonna lie, it stung a bit to hear but I accept your apology.” 

“Okay,” she says quietly. Betty lets her head fall a bit, resting on his shoulder. He gingerly grabs the bong out of her hand and takes a single hit himself before returning it to the coffee table. Jughead rubs circles down Betty’s back and she feels herself returning to some sense of normalcy.

“I haven’t self-harmed in..a bit,” Betty says, finally finishing her sentence.

Jughead’s face is all sympathy and concern and Betty breathes a sigh of relief. Her high school boyfriend had been terrified of her anxiety, hadn’t even tried to understand it. It had taught her at an early age that maybe she just wasn’t cut out for a serious relationship. ( _That maybe_ she _was too difficult to handle.)_

“You see a therapist, right?” Jughead says in response.

Betty nods, a grin covering her face again finally. “Good thing I see her tomorrow, huh?”

Jughead grins too, squeezing her shoulder and placing a kiss to her forehead. “See, she’ll help you talk through everything. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Betty’s heart is nearly bursting out of her chest as she nuzzles in closer to Jughead’s warmth. “Five more minutes,” she mumbles. “Then I’ll make us lunch.”

“Deal.”

* * *

“Some days are just bad days,” Jughead says soothingly to Betty as he stands behind her, massaging her shoulders and pressing kisses into her hair, even as she sits with her head in her hands. 

She hadn’t snapped at him this time, but she definitely had an anxiety attack in reaction to a very unfair deadline that had been imposed on her while they’d been taking lunch. He wasn’t lying about what he’d said before; he had helped Jellybean come down from a lot of anxiety attacks growing up. He was weirdly grateful for it now. From the way Betty had reacted to his quiet and easy acceptance of her mental health disorder, Jughead can tell that everyone hasn’t always been so understanding with her. 

Jughead can hear Betty sniffling and he hates it, wishing he could make the bad stuff go away. But he knows better than anyone that sometimes all you can do is be there. In its infinite senselessness, the sun picks that moment to come bursting through Betty’s window.

Betty finally lifts her head, tears streaming down her face as she says, “Boo! The sun is _mocking_ me!”

Jughead laughs and Betty turns around finally to shoot him an annoyed look. Jughead shakes his head, pushing the bong toward her. She rolls her eyes and accepts a hit, leaning back against Jughead’s soothing hands.

“It was raining earlier,” Betty grumbles. “I was ready for a gloomy day. But now, _I_ feel gloomy and the sun comes out! Is this all just a big joke?”

Jughead laughs harder, taking a bong rip himself. “If only, Betty. If only.”

Somehow they both get back to work after that, though Jughead scoots his chair closer to Betty’s so he can give her encouraging kisses on the cheek when she’s looking a little panicky. Jughead tries to concentrate on his work, reminds himself that no matter how bad things get, he will be here for Betty. 

Jughead makes instant ramen for dinner because Betty isn’t up for cooking and they eat on the couch, flicking on the news again. 

“Holding this primary is literally irresponsible,” Betty grumbles as she slurps, both of them rolling their eyes as the pundits predict who will come out on top tonight. 

“The results will be illegitimate if people literally had to risk infection to vote,” Jughead agrees, shaking his head. He’d been texting Sweet Pea earlier, sharing rage-filled opinions as his friend headed into work.

“This is making everything worse,” Betty says, staring grimly at the TV and Jughead reaches for the remote, turning it off quickly. “Thank you,” Betty says with a cleansing breath. “What can we do to take our mind off this?” 

Jughead considers, slurping his last bite of noodles and setting the empty container down. “Got any board games?”

They end up sitting cross-legged on Betty’s hardwood bedroom floor, searching for her apparently-scattered board game collection. “There’s so much more crap under this bed than I’d like to admit,” she says, crouching down to start pulling items out.

Jughead grins, accepting a hat box Betty hands him and placing it behind him. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t even want to _know_ what my childhood bedroom back in Riverdale looked like,” he says and Betty laughs appreciatively.

She pulls out a clear-plastic chest next, lifting it with some difficulty. “What is _in_ this thing?” Jughead asks incredulously as he places the surprisingly-heavy object behind them.

Betty giggles, pausing her search to face him. “It’s my craft box!”

Jughead cocks his head to the side. “What exactly is inside a craft box?”

“In my case, anything I impulse-purchased at an art store,” Betty admits with a coy grin and Jughead laughs.

“Did you used to be an art kid in high school?”

Betty shrugs. “No, no, I’m not necessarily any good at drawing or painting. I just...I don’t know, in high school there was an art store just about twenty minutes from home,” Betty curls a lock of hair around her finger absently as she talks and Jughead is totally captivated. “When I got my license I started driving there when I was feeling too anxious being in the house. I don’t know why, but looking at everything, it gave me hope. Like, I could create something new if I really wanted to.” 

Jughead nods. “I get that. I mean, that’s how I feel about writing.”

Betty smiles. “Right, exactly. And New York has no shortage of art stores, so in college I kept doing the same thing when things got overwhelming. And I guess over the years I’ve amassed quite the collection of paints and colored pencils and stuff. It’s just...therapeutic on my worst days.”

Jughead fingers the handle of the craft box. “Does this mean you want to forgo our board game search for arts and crafts instead?”

Betty shakes her head with a sly smile. “One day. That part of the quarantine will surely come soon,” she answers before turning around to continue searching. “Ugh, I really need to sweep under here.” 

Jughead laughs. “Hey, I’m sure the cleaning phase will _also_ come eventually.”

Betty giggles. “You’re right—aha!”

“You found something?”

Betty crouches down even more, resting on her stomach as she starts pulling out cardboard game boxes one by one. “Found ‘em.”

Jughead’s eyes widen as he dusts off Scrabble. “We’re gonna have like, a board game _tournament_ ,” Jughead says.

Betty lets out a big laugh, dusting her pants off and standing up. 

“Oh, Betty,” he says. “I’m not joking. Now, what can we use for a scoreboard?”

Betty agrees to play along when he explains that he’d done something similar for his sister Jellybean in the months right before his parents got divorced, when their fighting made their house unbearable, and the two of them would hide in their basement and play board games. Betty takes down the whiteboard from her desk and props it up in the living room. As Jughead sorts through the games on the couch, Betty erases her little dry-erase notes from the board.

“Not much of a loss,” she muses. “Everything on this board is about an event that’s been cancelled.”

“See, look on the bright side, Betts,” Jughead says teasingly. “Instead of reminding you of everything we’re missing, it’ll be a reminder that I’m kicking your ass in our tournament!” 

Betty turns around to scoff at him. “In your dreams, Jones.”

They end up passing a joint back and forth while playing Mancala. There’s something oddly soothing about the sound of the smooth marbles dropping in the wooden wells. (Betty’s little laugh when she teases Jughead isn’t a bad sound either.)

“ _Aggressive_ ,” Jughead remarks, a little turned on, as Betty slams two red marbles into the well and wins the fourth round.

Betty shrugs. “Gotta do what you gotta do to _win_.”

She gets up to mark her win on the whiteboard and Jughead follows, placing his hands on her shoulders. “But, Betty,” he whispers into her ear, satisfied when she visibly shivers. “Your win ties us up, 2-2.”

Betty grins, turning back around in Jughead’s arms. “Wanna make a wager?” she asks and the fire in her eyes has Jughead hanging on her every word.

“What did you have in mind?” he asks, dropping his voice low to match hers as they lock eyes. 

“Next one to win gets to be on top tonight?” she says innocently. (After all, they’d discovered the night before that this was Betty’s _second_ favorite position.)

“You’re on.”

Later—as Betty breathes his name, her eyes shut as she bounces on top of him, meeting his thrusts with a whine—he thinks he’s never been so happy to lose.

7.

**march 18, 2020**

Wednesday brings another sunny day. It’s almost _impossibly_ sunny, the birds chirping mockingly in the trees to wake up Betty and Jughead with a groan. The days are starting to blend together, one big mess of odd weather and weirdly-timed meals. 

Betty turns in bed to see Jughead scrolling through his phone. “Archie?” she guesses but he shakes his head.

“Sweet Pea,” he says. “We’ve been texting a lot. Can you believe his restaurant is currently still making him haul ass into work?”

Betty’s eyes widen with fear. She’s always liked Archie and Jughead’s friend; the idea of him riding the subway right now is terrifying. “I hate it here,” she says. 

“Hard same,” Jughead says, turning back to type a reply. “He says ‘hey,’ by the way,” he adds with a little smirk.

As Jughead grabs a towel and goes to take a shower, Betty wonders if Jughead has told anyone about their newfound relationship.

It’s the first day working from home that Betty can breathe a little bit. Maybe it’s the fact that she has a Zoom call scheduled with her therapist for 7 PM? Or maybe it’s just taken a few days to get used to typing out emails from her kitchen table? Or maybe, as Jughead said the day before, there are good days and bad days. Today’s finally a good one.

After a simple pasta dinner, Jughead kisses her on the forehead, promising to watch something on his laptop with his headphones on to block out the noise of Betty’s therapy session. “You’re the best,” Betty says, though she has so much more to say.

Still, Betty has never been happier to see her therapist’s face pop up on a screen in her life.

* * *

Jughead picked well; he’s sitting up in Betty’s bed fully engrossed in a documentary when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He looks up to see Betty sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him with a reverent smile on her face. “Hey, you,” she says, a giddiness to her voice that makes Jughead close his laptop immediately.

“Good therapy session?” he asks as Betty drapes herself into the bed next to him. His arms come around her naturally and she nuzzles in. God, this is perfect. (Or it would be, if they weren’t also, like, quarantined.)

“ _Very good_ therapy session,” Betty says. He notices that she’s picking at lint on the comforter, probably for something to do with her hands. “We…” He lets her take a moment to think; he can’t imagine how vulnerable it must make her feel to share this with him. “We talked about how I’m feeling kinda guilty,” she finally admits.

Jughead’s face screws up with confusion. “What are you feeling guilty about?”

Betty shrugs. “Being happy, I guess? Like, knowing that Kevin and Fangs are sick a few miles away, and we’re here…doing this.” Jughead grins when she points out their intertwined bodies. It makes Jughead pull her in closer, place a kiss on the crown of her head.

“I get that,” Jughead says quietly. “It’s a complicated time. But for the record, I’m happy too. About _this_ , at least.”

Betty smiles. “My therapist approves of you.”

Jughead pumps his fist in the air. “Wow, what an honor,” he says as Betty giggles.

“It really is! She’s very protective of me, I’ve been seeing her since I moved to New York,” Betty says. “So...what should we do now?”

“Watch something?” Jughead suggests, tapping the laptop he’d closed. “We could continue that series we were watching the other night.”

Betty smiles. “Works for me.” She repacks the bowl Jughead had recently ashed and passes the bong as he queues the episode up. They both take a few hits and have just made it past the “previously on” when their viewing is interrupted yet again by a phone call. 

“It’s you this time,” Jughead says, leaning over and grabbing Betty’s phone off the nightstand for her.

“Oh, it’s Cheryl,” Betty says, looking down at her cousin’s contact photo filling the screen. “I have to pick this up. She’ll just keep calling.”

Jughead pauses the show. “Have you...told her?”

Betty shakes her head. “Should I?”

“Whatever you want,” Jughead says. 

Betty nods, squaring her shoulders before finally answering the FaceTime call and waiting for Cheryl’s face to fill the screen as the video connects. 

“My dear cousin!” Cheryl shrieks. She’s also sitting in bed, backdropped by a red silk canopy. 

“Hey, Cheryl,” Betty says. “How’s it going?”

Jughead is just barely in the shot, but he hadn’t bothered to take his arm out from around Betty’s shoulder. “Wait,” Cheryl says before Betty can answer. “Who’s with you?”

Betty laughs. “Wait, have I not talked to you since last week?”

“No, you have not! That’s why I’m calling! I was giving you some space, but are you safe? Are you working from home? Catch me up!” Cheryl’s voice is peppy but it doesn’t do much to quell the fear in Jughead. He doesn’t know Cheryl well, but she’s given him some vaguely threatening looks the couple times he’d met her previously.

“I’m with Jughead, Cheryl,” Betty says, sneaking Jughead an “is this okay?” look before turning the camera a bit so both Betty and Jughead are in frame. 

“Oh!” Cheryl says, seemingly putting everything together in her head. “Hi, Jughead.”

“Basically, to make a long story short,” Betty quickly supplies. “Me and Jughead went to Kevin’s cabaret show last week I was telling you about?”

“Oh yes! How did it go?”

“Very well. I mean, Kevin’s performance was great, at least. But unfortunately later that week Fangs started showing symptoms for COVID-19, and now Kevin’s showing symptoms too. Archie basically freaked and kicked Jughead out when he found out me and Jughead were exposed,” Betty explains.

“And I’ve been crashing here ever since,” Jughead pipes up, feeling the need to say something.

“Well, finally,” Cheryl says. She’s propped her camera up and is now filing her nails, not even looking at the camera. 

“What do you mean, ‘finally?’” Betty asks and her face appears just as confused as Jughead feels.

Cheryl rolls her eyes. “Oh, _please_ , Betty. I didn’t say anything because I know how sensitive you can be about these things,” she says. “But it’s obvious from the few times I’ve hung out with you guys that you were both crushing _hard_. And now you’re finally forced together by what else but a global pandemic? It’s kind of beautiful in a very chaotic way.”

Jughead shakes his head, laughing cynically. “Wow, Cheryl, of course you’d find this circumstance beautiful.”

Cheryl shrugs. “A little chaos never hurt anybody…” she pauses. “Okay, maybe it has. But in this case it seems like it produced at least one good thing, right?” She finally looks up again and Jughead sees that Betty is watching Cheryl with a dazed smile. 

“I was _that_ obvious?” she finally says and Jughead shakes his head. “Clearly not to me.”

Cheryl laughs. “You two are hilarious,” she says. “I’m glad I called—you made my day.”

They talk with Cheryl for a bit longer, listening to her actually-hilarious rant about her neighbors’ antics during quarantine so far. Jughead realizes that Cheryl is different when it’s just her and Betty. He understands why they’re so close. Aside from a couple suggestive comments that Jughead feels were wholly unnecessary, the call ends without any major embarrassment. 

“Well, one friend down, how many to go?” Betty says, laughing.

“I guess. Hey, isn’t this the same show Kevin interrupted the other night?” Jughead says. 

Betty shakes her head and presses “play” on the laptop. She cozies herself up against Jughead again. “No more interruptions,” she says softly. As they settle back into watching the show together, Jughead can’t help but think: _I wish I could take this girl on a real date._

8.

**march 19, 2020**

“Let me make dinner tonight,” Jughead says suddenly at breakfast, raising Betty’s eyebrows.

She smiles and responds gently, “It’s not that the ramen wasn’t _exactly_ what I needed the other night, Jug, but…”

“No, nothing instant, I promise. I looked up a recipe and everything,” Jughead insists. “I made sure we had everything.”

Betty looks like she wants to kiss him, so Jughead guesses he’s doing something right. He continues, “I want to take you on like… a real date. Or at least, the best I can do under these circumstances.”

To his relief, Betty stands up and comes to sit in his lap, arms looping around his neck as she kisses him passionately. “I really like you,” she says, a blush on her face, when she pulls back. “And I can’t wait for our date.” She pauses for a second. “Should I get dressed up?”

Betty showers after they finish work for the day in keeping with the theme of a first date. Jughead jumps into action, rummaging through her craft box for materials and grinning at the simple blue dress Betty has laid out on her bed. He fashions together a fake flower with a single green pipe cleaner and crumpled-up pink construction paper, plopping it into a mason jar in the center of the table. Then he gathers one of Betty’s scented candles from the bookshelf and lights it, letting the smell of fresh linen emanate through the kitchen. 

By the time he hears Betty emerge from the bathroom, there’s garlic sauteeing on the stove and he’s found a way to prop his phone up to see the recipe while cooking. He hopes Betty won’t be annoyed about having pasta two nights in a row; he’d grabbed frozen seafood ravioli at the grocery store the other day remembering Betty liked it. He figures ravioli with a cream sauce is the fanciest “date” food he can muster.

Betty takes her time getting dressed and Jughead’s almost finished with the sauce by the time she’s ready, looking gorgeous in that dress, which hugs her in all the right places. She’s been wearing her hair down for days now, something that has made Jughead feel like he belonged in her home. But now it’s swept up in a bun, even more special than her usual ponytail, and he feels just as much belonging. 

Betty comes brandishing a freshly-rolled joint. She sniffs at the air and grins. “Oh my God. Jug, that smells _amazing_. What are you making me?”

“Ravioli with cream sauce,” Jughead says, bringing the sauce to a simmer and turning to face Betty. “You look beautiful.”

She blushes. “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.” Jughead looks down at the sweater and jeans he’d thrown on, basically the nicest clothes Archie had packed for him. Betty’s eyes flit from his outfit to the kitchen table, landing on his centerpieces with pleasant surprise. 

“Did you make this flower?” she asks, pure joy in her eyes as she walks toward the table to stare more closely at it.

Jughead looks sheepish. “Yes, yes I did.” 

Betty crosses the rest of the way to where he stands at the counter waiting for the water to boil, grabbing his face and kissing him, hard. “This is the cutest thing anyone has ever done for me,” she murmurs, burying her head in Jughead’s chest.

Jughead grins, stroking her hair. “You deserve romance, even during quarantine,” he responds. “Now...did I see a joint?”

“My own form of romance,” Betty quips. 

They pass the joint back and forth at the kitchen table, laughing and flirting. Betty sits on the joint while Jughead goes to pour the ravioli into the pot. She teases him, heckles his cooking. But eventually, he pours not-terrible-looking sauce onto cooked ravioli and serves it to Betty. He winces when she takes her first bite, bracing for the worst.

“It’s actually _really_ good, Jug,” Betty says, the surprise on her face making Jughead stick his tongue out at her.

* * *

Betty didn’t think it was possible to like Jughead more than she did before, but he’s somehow done it. She finishes her last piece of ravioli and puts her fork down, completely satisfied, to see Jughead looking back at her with pure reverence. “This was the perfect first date, Juggie,” she says, pink rising to her cheeks at the nickname. She’s only used it once before, when really drunk about six months earlier—a night she’d almost confessed her feelings and stopped herself just in the nick of time.

Jughead grins back at her though. “You’re the only one who can call me that, for the record,” he says, standing up with his plate and reaching for hers.

“You’re not washing all the dishes after cooking, are you?” Betty says, picking up a dish and following him to the sink.

He turns around and shoots her a challenging look. “Compromise: we do the dishes together.”

Betty grabs him by the sweater, pulling him down for a heated kiss. “Perfect,” she says.

It’s hard to wash dishes with Jughead’s body practically molded behind her own, pressing kisses to the back of her neck as they each half-wash a dish with a sponge. “We’re not good at this,” Jughead murmurs into Betty’s hair, tickling her neck and she giggles. 

“Says who?” she asks, finally turning around in his arms and giving in, kissing him full on the mouth even as he shrieks from her soapy hands touching his sweater. 

They’re still devouring each other against the sink when Archie FaceTimes Jughead’s phone again. Neither of them say anything, but Jughead picks up. 

“Hey guys!” Archie says and Betty tries to downplay how flushed she feels. 

“Hi, Arch,” she says quietly.

“What are you up to?”

“We were washing dishes, actually,” Jughead says. “Your favorite activity.”

“Ah. I like drying better,” Archie says. “But actually...there’s a real reason I called. Can you help me with that glitch in the XBOX that happens sometimes?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Jughead says, and he sounds as relieved as Betty feels. He signals to Betty that he’ll move into the living room area and she nods. As he walks toward the couch, she hears Jughead continue, “Okay, go over to the XBOX, I’ll show you.”

Betty sighs in relief and returns to the sink to finish the job.

“Archie says good night,” Jughead says when he returns to the kitchen to find Betty almost finished drying. 

She bites her lip and smiles at Jughead. “I hate to break this first-date magic,” she says.

Jughead grins. “I achieved first-date magic?”

Betty nods. “Duh. You totally nailed it. I was ready to fuck you on this counter before Archie called.”

Jughead lets out a deep breath. “A lot to unpack there,” he quips and it breaks the tension enough for both of them to laugh.

Betty places the last dried dish in the cabinet and turns around. “So, in the true spirit of a first date, what do you say about some real relationship talk?”

“I say: do you want to roll the joint or should I?”

Betty’s still wearing her dress as they sit on the bed, an ashtray sitting between them. Jughead shrugged his sweater off, leaving him in a thin undershirt that has Betty a bit distracted. She passes off the joint and sighs. 

“Where do we begin?” Jughead asks, somehow verbalizing her own thoughts.

“I don’t know,” Betty says. “I mean, we know both of us really like each other and that it’s not just sex. I mean, we want to date. So...are we in a relationship? Are you my boyfriend?”

Jughead runs his hand through his hair, pulling his beanie off and letting it fall to the side. It makes Betty feel like he’s unwrapping a part of himself for her. And then, he says, “Yes. I want to be your boyfriend, Betty. I know this is the weirdest start to a relationship literally _ever_ but I’ve liked you for so long. I’ve wanted to be with you for...awhile.”

“Me too. I know our feelings are real, it’s just...scary,” Betty says. “I mean, we don’t know when this will end.”

“I know,” Jughead says, reaching for her hand and stroking it gently. “But we’ve been friends for three years. We’ve both already seen each other at some...weird times.”

Betty nods, laughing. “You’re not wrong about that.”

“We just have to continue being honest like we said the other day. And we’ll be okay. Right?” She nods and he leans forward to kiss her forehead, both their eyes floating closed to stay in the moment. They pull back, realizing with a laugh they’ve let the joint go out.

Betty relights it and leans back against the headboard. “Okay,” she says, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “So you’re my boyfriend. I’m your girlfriend. It’s weird but it’s what we both want.”

“Precisely.”

“There’s just one more question, then. Are we telling people? I mean, we _did_ tell Cheryl.” Betty feels nervous about this, but she’s not really sure why. 

“Yeah, I guess we should,” Jughead says. “Right?” He looks nervous too.

“Okay, well to be honest, I did cave earlier this week and tell Veronica and Toni...they’ve been _so_ insistent that something is up with me all week and I couldn’t get them off my back!” she explains and Jughead laughs through a cloud of smoke, coughing as he hands back the joint.

“That is hilarious,” Jughead says. “What do they think?” he adds curiously.

“They’re way too excited and have way too many questions,” Betty says, rolling her eyes as she pulls on the joint. “It’s why I haven’t videochatted them all week. I didn’t want them to embarrass you with some outlandish, suggestive comment.”

Jughead bursts out laughing, much harder than Betty ever could have expected. “ _That’s_ why you haven’t called them even though you’re missing them like crazy?”

Betty nods guiltily. Jughead presses a kiss to her mouth. “Please call them tomorrow,” he says, his face still inches from hers. 

She nods again, this time smiling up at him. “Okay,” she whispers.

“So you didn’t tell anyone else?” 

Betty shakes her head. “I thought about telling Kevin, but hesitated.”

“Why?” Jughead asks and there’s that question again.

“I don’t know,” Betty says honestly. “I guess I’m afraid people are gonna think we shouldn’t date under the circumstances or something? I know that’s kind of weird. But I just...I don’t know. I have this extreme judgment ingrained in me from the way my mom used to criticize me growing up. I always assume everyone will have like, the worst possible opinion of me or anything I do.”

Jughead reaches for her hand again. “I totally get that. I can’t say I haven’t been there a few times before.”

“You have?”

“Yeah,” Jughead says. “I think it’s why I haven’t told Archie even though he’s been texting me like crazy. I _did_ cave last night though and told Sweet Pea, not gonna lie.”

Betty blushes. “Oh, really? What did he say…”

“Sweet Pea-approved,” Jughead promises, smiling.

“So,” Betty says, breathing out deep. “Should we tell Archie?”

Jughead grimaces. “Why does that sound awful right now?”

Betty shrugs. “Maybe because he’s kind of the reason we met? I mean, he’s the one prone to have the strongest reaction of any of our friends. Not to be repetitive, but it’s...kind of scary. And weird.”

Jughead nods, wrapping his arm around Betty’s shoulder. “I don’t want to stress you out any more than you already are. We have to tell him eventually,” he says. “But maybe we should kick that one down the road to future Jughead and Betty.”

Betty giggles. “You’re right. Let’s let those two deal with that.”

9.

**march 20, 2020**

It’s unseasonably warm, a pleasant 75 degrees. They throw the windows open and let the breeze in. Around noon, Betty follows Jughead’s pleading from the night before and enters a Zoom call with Toni and Veronica.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Betty asks.

Jughead looks up from his manuscript and nods. “Of course.”

“Just remember you said that,” Betty says, clicking. 

“HEEEEYYYY!” The voices of Veronica and Toni make Jughead jump in his seat and Betty laughs across the table.

“Told you,” she says.

“Are you talking to your new boy toy?” Veronica asks and Jughead rolls his eyes.

Betty groans. “Ugh, can we not? Let’s vent about work, please, I miss you guys.”

Jughead grins, trying not to invade the conversation even as he’s too distracted by their gossip and jokes to really concentrate on his reading. Plus, he’s feeling that Friday sort-of lazy, exacerbated by being home on a nice day with his new girlfriend. 

Toni and Veronica stick to Betty’s wishes for most of the call and Jughead smiles fondly as he overhears the three of them quipping back and forth about the co-workers he’s heard more and more about over the past week. 

Jughead laughs out loud at one thing Toni says and the conversation pauses, Betty looking up to grin at him over her laptop.

“Did Jughead laugh at my joke?” Toni says. “Well, now he _has_ to show himself.”

“Show yourself!” Veronica calls.

Betty shoots him a sympathetic look. “Come say hi?”

Jughead sighs. The words “only for you, Betty Cooper” pop into his head as he begrudgingly stands up and walks behind Betty’s chair. He realizes too late that he isn’t wearing his beanie, not having expected to see anyone but Betty today. “Hey,” he says, waving shyly and resting his hands on Betty’s shoulders half out of habit and half for comfort.

“Oh my _God_!” Veronica shrieks. “I didn’t know you had all of that _hair_ under that beanie!”

“Shit,” Jughead mumbles and Betty stifles a laugh, clasping the hand on her shoulder. 

“Jug has beautiful hair,” she says, turning to look up at Jughead affectionately. He grins back down at her.

“Oh my God, you two are _adorable_ ,” Toni says, sipping on a mug of coffee. 

“The dramatic effect you three have is amazing,” Jughead says and he’s glad it makes all of them laugh.

“We’ll let you two get back to your unbelievable chemistry now,” Veronica says and both Betty and Jughead blush. “You know we’re right. We’re happy for you!”

“Seconded!” Toni says. “We’ll do this again soon?”

Betty nods and they both wave before hanging up the call. “Don’t say anything, your friends are awesome,” Jughead says, kissing her before she can apologize. 

“How did you know I was gonna say sorry?” Betty asks when he pulls back.

“Just a sneaking suspicion,” Jughead says, walking back over to his chair. “Now, no offense, but I need to finish this so I can spend all weekend ravishing you.”

Betty raises her eyebrows, her face still flushed. “Well-played, Jones,” she says, a smirk playing across her lips as she returns to her work.

* * *

Betty is starting to get scared that she’ll fall into depression soon. It’s happened to her plenty of times before when things get too overwhelming. She’s not sure she can handle one more piece of bad news, but Kevin and Fangs call just after 5 to—somehow—deliver more of it.

“Kev doesn’t wanna FaceTime because we both look super sick,” Fangs says and Betty and Jughead exchange a look. Fangs’ voice is quite weak. “But he has some...news.”

“What’s up, Kevin?” Betty asks, bracing for the worst.

“Welp,” Kevin says. “I was officially laid off!” 

“Nooo,” Betty says. While dancing his way toward his Broadway dreams, Kevin works in event sales as a day job. Suffice it to say, this whole social distancing thing is bad for business for _both_ income streams.

“It’s not just me. They fired almost everyone,” Kevin sighs. “I mean, _all_ our events are cancelled.”

“Fuck,” Jughead says. “I’m really sorry, Kevin.”

“Guess I’ll be filing for unemployment tomorrow,” Kevin says with a sigh. 

He coughs and Betty frowns. “How are you feeling?”

“Shittier,” Kevin says. “The irony is not lost on me.”

“Nooo, my babe,” Betty says. “I’m sending you all the virtual hugs.”

“Thanks, love,” Kevin says and Betty really wishes she could wrap her friend up in a hug. 

“How about you, Fangs?” Jughead asks.

Fangs coughs before speaking again. “I know I don’t sound it, but I actually think I’m over the hump. Today is the first day I’ve started to feel even a little bit human, though I’m definitely still fighting it off.”

“Well, that’s good to hear then, right?” Betty says, trying to sound more positive than she feels. “Over the hump?”

“I’m guessing there’s no update on the testing situation?” Jughead adds.

Fangs and Kevin both laugh, which is kind of weirdly funny-sounding through both their sick-voices. God, what a strange time. “Yeah, everyone we’ve talked to is saying neither of our cases are severe enough to warrant a test,” Fangs says. “They’re being forced to ration them for the severe cases. So we’ll probably never know for sure.”

“But that nurse friend of my dad’s came through and thinks we both definitely have it, of course. We’re following all her instructions and resting,” Kevin adds.

“Good,” Betty says. 

“How about you two?” Fangs asks. “Still no symptoms?”

“Yeah, still none,” Jughead says. “We check in with each other every day, but so far nothing.”

“Well, there’s some good news,” Kevin says. “But honestly, this virus is so fucked. Technically, I could’ve infected you both and you could just be asymptomatic.”

The very thought creeps Betty out but he’s right. That’s why this pandemic is so vicious, the contagion so easily spread.

“Anyway,” Kevin says. “We should go. But I promise we’ll talk for longer one day when we’re both up to it.”

“Definitely, no pressure,” Betty says.

“Happy to talk to y’all any time,” Jughead adds and Betty shoots him an appreciative grin for his effort.

Fangs and Kevin hang up and Betty just sits there, immobilized in the chair. Tears prick at her eyes. When will lay-offs start at her job? Will they? Everything feels so uncertain.

“You okay, Betts?” Jughead asks, eyes full of concern and arm already resting on its new favorite spot on her shoulder.

Betty wipes her tears and smiles up at him. “Yes but no,” she says. “I’ll be okay. It’s just...overwhelming. Only so much bad information you can take in for one day.”

“Tell me about it,” Jughead says. He looks like he’s about to say something more, but then Betty’s stomach grumbles audibly and Jughead shoots her a questionable look. 

“Sorry, very unlady-like,” Betty jokes and Jughead laughs, squeezing her shoulder. “Let’s get you some dinner.”

Betty and Jughead stand side by side drying dishes and both silently trying to think of something fun to do to get their minds off everything. 

“We’ve been quarantined for nine days, Jug, and tomorrow’s the weekend,” Betty says. 

“Yes, Betty, that is correct,” Jughead says, leaning down to kiss her forehead. Her eyes flutter shut at the soft gesture.

“I think it’s time to start getting creative with our activities.”

One of Jughead’s classic smirks, head cocked to the side. “What did you have in mind?”

* * *

“I _knew_ Archie would pack you a swimsuit,” Betty says, a satisfied smile on her face. 

They sit facing each other in Betty’s tub, water surprisingly warm and comfy, a couple candles lit and some bubble bath thrown in for good measure. The window is open and the early evening breeze whips the exposed skin of a bikini-clad Betty Cooper. Jughead watches her with curiosity, reaching for the joint and lighter she left on the bath mat. Like a true pro, Betty left a towel within arm’s reach too, to keep their hands and the joint as dry as possible.

“I knew it,” Jughead says as Betty blows toward the window.

“What did you _know_?” she asks before pulling again on the joint.

“That if you and I ever finally got our acts together and…”

“Declared our apparently very mutual feelings for each other?” 

(Betty’s eyes burning, that raised eyebrow. It takes everything in Jughead’s power not to rip that bathing suit right off her and move them to the bedroom.) “Exactly,” Jughead says instead. 

He takes the joint from Betty and gives it a long drag. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Betty says, rolling her eyes at his innocent look. “ _Dragging_ it out. Ha-ha, very funny. Wordplay has always been your thing, Jughead Jones.”

Jughead blows out a large cloud of smoke and then passes the joint back. “I didn’t say any words,” he says, grinning at Betty as she puffs. How she can manage to look so cute while smoking is beyond him. Which reminds him of the whole point he’s trying to make. _God, I’m stoned._ “But what I was going to say is that I knew, if you and I started seeing each other, if somehow you could possibly like me too-” he pauses, encouraged when Betty’s shining eyes seem to smile back at him. “That I would do anything you wanted me to...even if it means…”

“Sitting in your bathing suit in a bathtub smoking a joint in the middle of a global pandemic?” Betty supplies.

“Exactly. Anything for you, Betty Cooper.”

She takes just enough time to ash the joint in the ashtray they’ve left on the toilet seat, then practically launches herself into his lap, giving into the same instincts.

They eventually stop kissing at Betty’s insistence that the water will go cold before they finish their joint. Jughead relights it this time, watching Betty look thoughtfully out the window.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“There’s too many sirens,” she murmurs. Jughead nods, not much more to add. With the windows open all day, it’s become uncomfortably apparent that the COVID-19 outbreak is all around them.

“Okay, then I guess we’ll just have to get our minds off all of that,” Jughead says, taking a pull on the joint as it finally sparks and passing it to Betty.

“How?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

“Ask me a question,” he offers.

Betty thinks for a minute, then her eyes light up.

“Yes, Devious Betty? What do you have for me?” Jughead teases.

“When did you realize you liked me for the first time?” Betty blurts out, blushing immediately.

“I’ll tell if you do,” Jughead says, reaching forward to lock pinkies briefly as the joint changes hands.

“Deal,” Betty agrees, smiling.

“Okay, so. Ugh, it _has_ to be my first night in New York,” Jughead says. “I mean, I definitely crushed on you a little bit when I visited in college, don’t get me wrong. But I didn’t really _know_ you.”

Betty nods. “Oh, same. I was too focused on my studies and only doing casual dating in college,” she says. “I always found you kind of...flustering in college when I saw you, but I didn’t think about it any more than that.”

“Really?” Jughead says, unable to believe this. “You were flustered by that dork?”

Betty nods, grinning. “True story.”

“Anyway,” Jughead says, pausing to puff on what is now a little roach. “The day I moved to New York, there was a point in the early evening when Kevin and Archie went to get pizza and it was just you and me in my room, and I asked you what living in New York was like.”

Betty’s eyes light up. “Oh my God. I kind of remember that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Betty says. She’s disposed of the joint and takes the opportunity to cross the short distance between them, settling herself in Jughead’s lap. He grins down at her. 

“So what incredibly insightful thing did I say to win your heart?” Betty jokes, looking up at him with a playful grin.

“You said a lot of things, honestly. I probably don’t remember them all because I was so enamored by you. You were just like, looking out the window and talking about how being a New Yorker is like being anonymous and in a community at the same time. How people are kinder than our reputation gives us credit for. And I just...I fell for you,” Jughead clears his throat. It’s a little hard to believe he’s finally saying these things out loud.

Betty reaches up and kisses him, hard. “You were only a week ahead of me,” she says when she pulled back.

“What?”

“Archie brought you to my apartment a week later. You were picking me up for a hang at some bar,” Betty says, still smiling up at him. “You and I ended up talking about the books on my bookshelf for so long Archie had to practically drag us out of here to get to the bar on time.”

Jughead smiles in a satisfied sort of way. “Did it work?”

Betty looks confused. “Did what work?”

“I don’t hear them anymore. The sirens,” Jughead says. He knows they’re pushing the limits now; the water will surely go cold soon and this particular magic will end. But he wants to soak up every last minute he can get.

“ _Oh,_ ” Betty says, relaxing into Jughead’s body, maybe thinking the exact same thing as him. “I can’t hear them either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Pea is modeled after my friend/roommate Jon, who kept getting serving shifts almost right up to when the bars/restaurants officially closed. (which we’re about to get to in Ch 5 in the timeline.)
> 
> Kevin’s lay-off is based on my dear friend Nick, who works in event sales and was laid off around the same time I placed it in the timeline.
> 
> I hope this fic is bringing y’all a little joy as I try to work through the real pain us New Yorkers are feeling rn by making something beautiful out of it. All the love to you! Wash your hands! Bughead Forever, ignore misogynistic male writers <3 Maria


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tiger King_ madness descends on their friend group and Betty and Jughead pass the 14-day quarantine mark while the pandemic spreads exponentially through NYC.
> 
> warning: there are definitely tiger king spoilers in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops this got long af. Part of it is that this week is when the CARES Act passed and so there’s a lot of political stuff. Which can get long. But I quoted a lot of actual Bernie; see the after note for a link to the speech Bughead watches. But honestly, this week in March, everyone I knew was pretty tuned into this legislation passing because it was the first major coronavirus relief package, and _so many_ people I know were laid off and waiting to hear how the bill would help them. 
> 
> (for non-Americans, the CARES Act is the legislation that expanded unemployment for everyone aka did a bunch of things it should be a-given for them to do but bc it’s AMERICA we had to pass an act to do it.) But we did lobby hard and get some good stuff in there. The union I work for lobbied hard, along with lots of other orgs, to ensure unemployment was expanded to a bunch of different classes of workers whose unemployment eligibility has been eroded by anti-worker Republicans over the years. This country is the *Jean Ralphio voice* woorssttt.) 
> 
> So buckle up for stoned Bernie times! And cute fluff! Bc that’s what we deserve. Who else is excited for Riverdale hiatus and to drown in fluffy fan-created Bughead content? Same, y’all. Same.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!  
> Maria

10.

**march 21, 2020**

Betty can’t remember the last time she slept past 10 AM. Her anxiety tends to keep her awake if she doesn’t smoke to quiet the racing thoughts, and her internal clock always seemed to follow suit. She’s noticed that Jughead wakes up relatively early too, yet both of them end up rubbing their eyes, bewildered to find it’s 11:13 AM when they finally stir.

“Wow,” Betty says, falling back into the sheets with a sigh and closing her eyes to shield the too-bright sun shining through the window. “I _never_ do this.”

“You know, me either,” Jughead admits, rubbing Betty’s shoulder softly as he turns on his elbow to face her completely.

Betty grins at the way his gaze always seems to envelope her. “I read the other day that sleeping more than usual can be considered a trauma response.”

“True,” Jughead says thoughtfully. “We deserve some extra sleep to deal with the impending doom that Trump’s complete mishandling of a pandemic will likely cause.” He pauses to take a breath, Betty smiling at his mid-rant expression of sheer concentration. “Speaking for myself, though,” Jughead continues. “I’ve never felt so comfortable sleeping through the night as I have these last few nights with you.”

Betty can feel her face warming. Since quarantine began, Jughead keeps topping himself, just saying one romantic thing after another. She leans forward and kisses him, a little overwhelmed by the notion of finding the right words to describe the feeling overcoming her. Jughead smiles into the kiss, his hands tightening their grip on her shoulders. Betty pulls back but remains nestled in his arms a little while longer, basking in the safety she now finds here.

Jughead’s phone vibrates on the nightstand and he reaches for it with a look of regret. “Ah, Jellybean’s texting me,” he says. “Let me answer her real quick.”

Betty grabs her phone too, with some reluctance—when it’s just the two of them in bed, before they’ve plugged into whatever awful thing Trump said last, she can sometimes relish in a few moments when everything happening around them fades away. Betty scrolls through the news alerts and trending topics, a familiar feeling of dread spreading through her stomach with each headline. She’s fully engrossed until she hears the unmistakable sound of Jughead laughing. She looks up questioningly.

“Just watching you,” Jughead says by explanation, dropping his phone back on the nightstand without letting his gaze leave hers. “I can tell there’s some very unpleasant news article on your phone just from your expression.”

It’s like every day they reveal something new they quietly learned about each other over the past three years. These little moments—when Betty feels herself growing a little more in awe of Jughead—they _ground_ her. Remind her that life isn’t completely on pause; she’s living it right now. 

Oh, right—a _pause_.

“I was just reading about the governor’s executive order,” Betty finally explains, a sad sort of smile on her face as she shows him the headline. “Otherwise known as: New York State on PAUSE.”

“The things you miss when you smoke a joint in the bathtub,” Jughead says, leaning forward to read closer. Betty takes the opportunity to run a hand through his hair, internally squealing when she notices Jughead’s eyes float closed in pleasure for a mere second before returning his attention to the article.

“So basically, everything aside from essential businesses is officially closed?” Jughead says.

Betty nods, frowning. “As of 8 PM tomorrow,” she says. She can’t help but instinctually look toward her window, the one out of which they can glimpse the Chinese take-out place and the neon sign of the bodega. Jughead gently takes Betty’s phone from her hand, Betty barely registering his actions though her fingers continue raking through his hair. “What exactly _is_ an essential business?” she asks, clearing her throat. 

Jughead looks up from the article questioningly. Betty laughs and explains, “I didn’t get that far before I stopped reading from...well, existential dread.”

“Ah,” Jughead grins. ‘That ol’ thing.” His eyes drop back down to Betty’s phone. “Pretty much everyone has to close but like, hospitals and doctor’s offices, grocery stores, pharmacies, essential manufacturing…” He continues to run his eyes down the article, his voice trailing off. “Public transportation will continue operating for essential workers. Oh, and bars and restaurants are allowed to stay open, but delivery and take-out only.”

Jughead’s words have Betty finally whipping her head away from the window and returning her attention completely to the man half-wrapped around her. “We’ll have to order take-out from local restaurants,” she murmurs. “Help keep them open.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jughead says, dropping Betty’s phone to the comforter. “I gotta talk to Sweet Pea this weekend.” 

She immediately settles back into his arms, pulling the blanket back on top of them. “Oh shit, you’re right,” Betty says. “He’s probably laid off now.”

“ _Yep_ ,” Jughead says. “Fuck this.”

“We live in the worst timeline,” Betty sighs, snuggling in closer to Jughead, face burying in his chest, his neck. 

“And it’s cold too,” Jughead says. Betty shivers a little; he’s right, the temperature definitely dropped overnight. “God, I wish we could stay in bed all day.” 

Betty shrugs, grabbing her phone back off the bed and scrolling down her news app. She grins when Jughead immediately taps at her phone, picking an article from over her shoulder. “It’s Saturday, Juggie,” she says. “We can stay in bed as long as we want.”

* * *

Betty has _pretty_ plates. 

Jughead remembers the first time he stayed at Archie’s house for dinner as kids, sitting on the high-backed dining-room chairs in absolute _awe_ of how pretty the plates were—all matching, unchipped, carefully-painted flowers along the border. Yet, somehow, they weren’t pretentious. It would take him years to find the words for it—years of vicious fights and fake smiles and broken promises. Years to find out that it wasn’t the plates. It was the fact that the plates existed in a house that actually felt like a _home_.

Here, sitting cross-legged on Betty’s hardwood living room floor, he picks up a piece of buttered toast off one of Betty’s little purple plates, dusted with a light-gold, geometric trim. Betty takes her time choosing a record across the room and Jughead watches her as he eats. She’s elegant, hair in a messier-than-usual ponytail, wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing more. 

He wipes the crumbs on his sweatpants and finally looks away, returning his attention to the task at hand: unpacking The Game of Life. The coffee has probably stopped brewing in the kitchen, he thinks. He stretches out, yawning and letting his hands rest behind him as he lines up piles of cards and game pieces along the floor. When he glances back at Betty, she’s finally sliding a record out of its sleeve. Jughead’s eyes catch the crumbs on his purple-and-gold plate and it swims to the front of his mind: Mary Andrews’ welcoming face. _Home._

“The Shins?” Jughead guesses as Betty saunters back toward him with a grin on her face, the record spinning behind her.

“Good ear. You approve?” She kneels next to him, buries her face in his neck.

“Always,” he breathes back, practically whispering in her ear. 

She kisses his cheek, then straightens back up. “I’ll get our coffee,” she says, breathless, like he has some sort of _effect_ on her. Almost a week into this new relationship, he still can’t believe it.

The Game of Life proves more flirtatious than Mancala. Betty’s capacity for innuendo extends well beyond the little blue and pink pegs in the plastic car signifying “husband,” “wife,” and “child.” She’s _viciously_ attached to the Tudor home card. (He pockets away that information for later.)

Betty spins the wheel for a final time, bringing her to the finish line on the board. “Vroom, vroom, I win,” she jokes, dropping her little plastic car down gently even as there’s absolute fire in her eyes. 

“Debatable, Betty,” he says, though he’s completely captivated. She’s inching closer and closer to him, crossing the board to reach him. 

“We’ll count our banks and you’ll see that I’m _winning_ this board game tournament,” Betty says, launching herself into his lap. 

He places a kiss on her collarbone, unable to resist when she’s sitting there in his t-shirt. Before he can think of a comeback, she grounds down on him, hands fisted in his hair as she leans down to capture his lips. “I don’t think this was what _Milton Bradley_ had in mind, Betty,” Jughead jokes between tongue-filled kisses, though he vaguely notes the sound of a plastic game piece hitting the floor. 

“Milton was almost _certainly_ an old racist,” Betty counters, nipping at his neck, her hands carding through Jughead’s hair as he brings his hands up to grab her breasts. She lets out a moan, biting her lip. 

“ _God_ , Betty,” he whispers.

She brings her mouth to his again, pulling on his hair a little. He groans, wondering how much more they can take before moving this to the bed—Betty’s sucking a hickey into his neck and his fingers are working their way around her nipples—and then his phone rings. His phone that he’d shoved in his sweatpants pocket, that Betty’s currently grinding down on, apparently not having noticed the ringing. “ _Jug_ ,” she whines, clearly misinterpreting the hand he brings between them in an attempt to silence it.

“No, no—it’s —my phone’s ringing,” Jughead says, hand still flailing wildly around for it. 

“No, it’s not,” she says in a confused tone.

Jughead’s eyes widen. And then, the muffled voice of Archie Andrews: “ _Nope_ , it’s definitely not.”

Betty finally pulls back a little, eyes meeting Jughead’s in surprise. She’s the one who reaches down between them to retrieve the phone, which some part of their entangled bodies had apparently already answered. They both startle at Archie’s amused face staring back at them through Jughead’s screen and Betty quickly turns the camera upward at the ceiling as she smoothes over her hair. But still, she doesn’t move off Jughead’s lap and something about that fact makes him squeeze her softly.

“I _knew_ it,” Archie says. “This is actually exactly why I’m calling.”

Betty looks horrified, so Jughead takes the lead, keeping the camera facing the ceiling. “ _What_ is exactly why you were calling?”

“I promised Kevin I would call on day 10 and ask you two a question.”

“Oh, yeah, and what’s that?” Betty asks challengingly, the very mention of Kevin making her eyes narrow. Jughead grimaces; thinking of Cheryl’s knowing look the other night, he squeezes Betty’s shoulder. 

“Well, based on the sounds I heard when you _answered_ this call-” Betty buries her head even further into Jughead’s chest. “-I feel like I already know the answer. But Kevin insisted I ask: have you two fucked already or what?” Archie says. 

Betty grabs Jughead’s phone out of his hand and aims it at the both of them. Jughead blushes: it’s truly something to see, a flushed Betty, wearing his t-shirt while very clearly straddling Jughead’s body. “What do you think?” she says sharply, rolling her eyes when both Jughead and Archie’s faces look back at her with complete surprise. “ _What_?” she barks.

Archie whistles lowly. “Betty Cooper,” he says proudly. “ _Finally_. Kevin will be very happy to hear the news.”

Jughead shakes his head. “If all of you thought it was _this_ obvious that me and Betty liked each other, why wouldn’t you be your usual meddling selves and try to get us together? Because apparently we were the last to know.”

“Yeah!” Betty says, running her hand through Jughead’s hair instinctually. “We come to find out we’ve both been literally _pining_ for each other for years. And you, our very best friend, just let us!”

Archie shrugs, though he looks sheepish. “It’s better this way,” is all he says.

“Well,” Jughead says. “We weren’t sure when we were gonna tell you but I guess you know now. We’re together.”

Archie claps his hands and something inside Jughead collapses in relief. “The only good news I’ve heard all week.”

Betty shakes her head, removing herself from Jughead’s lap. “Thanks, Arch. But uh...nature calls.”

Jughead watches her go, waiting until the bathroom door closes behind her to turn the camera so it frames his face. “You really knew this whole time?” he asks.

“Pretty much,” Archie says, shrugging. He’s relaxed back on their couch now, angling the camera so the sun pours in his window and backlights him. “I mean, you’re both my best friends and neither of you are like, serial monogamists. You’ve both only really _liked_ a handful of people, ever. It’s not hard for me to tell what it looks like when it’s…”

“Real?”

Archie nods. “Exactly, man.”

“This is the only time,” Jughead says. “The only time it’s ever felt real to me. With anyone.” The words come tumbling out and suddenly Jughead is weirdly grateful that Archie called when he did, if only to force him to say the words he was far too scared to say. 

“I’m _so_ happy for you, Jug,” Archie says, in that genuine way that makes Jughead’s heart hurt it’s so reminiscent of the late Fred Andrews. “I’m not surprised, though,” he adds. “You two are so perfect for each other. I knew if you finally got the timing right, you’d be something special together.”

It might be one of the most beautiful sentences he’s ever heard come out of his best friend’s mouth and Jughead would stop to revel in it if he didn’t have one more thing to ask before Betty emerges from the bathroom. “Hey, Arch,” he says quickly and Archie seems to note his urgency. 

“Yeah?” he says.

“Why did you never... _really_ tell me how you and Betty first met?”

Archie grimaces, looking a little embarrassed. “She told you the full story, huh? Get you two alone together for ten days and all the secrets come out.”

Jughead looks at Archie pleadingly through the screen. “Arch.”

“I could see the way you looked at her almost right away, Jug,” Archie says, a pleading tone to his voice. “I’ve never seen anyone look at Betty like that. And I’ve certainly never seen _you_ look at _anyone_ like that. I just...I don’t know. I didn’t want you to think that for even a _second_ I’d had any romantic interest in Betty because, really, that’s all it was, a single drunk second before she put me in my place. Showing me why she was the most badass girl I’d met all night, but that we were much better off as friends.”

Jughead nods, taking in the information with a neutral expression on his face. “You thought I would be upset if I knew you’d hit on her once?” 

Archie shrugs. “Not necessarily _upset_ , Jug. But think about you three years ago when you first moved here. You weren’t nearly as confident as you are now. I didn’t want you to think—I don’t know—that I was your _competitor_ or something.”

“Archie, that’s misogynistic bullshit.”

“I _know._ I _know_ it is. But that’s why I didn’t want you to think…”

Jughead shakes his head. “I get it,” he says. “I mean, you’re right. I totally would’ve short-circuited...at least a little bit, if I’d heard that shit three years ago.”

Archie shrugs. “It’s not that I thought you couldn’t handle it. It’s that I was afraid you’d use _any_ excuse not to act on your feelings. And I didn’t want to give you another one,” Archie says. “Whether or not it was right, I’m glad you guys found your way to each other in the end. Even if it was…”

“Under the weirdest circumstances ever?” Betty says from where she’s—apparently—standing behind the couch, startling both Jughead and Archie.

“You’re sneaky,” Jughead says flirtatiously, turning to grin at her from where he still sits on the floor. Betty smiles back, patting the couch as she settles down. Jughead notices she’s slipped leggings on, though she’s still wearing his soft blue S t-shirt. He repositions himself next to her on the couch, propping his phone up on the coffee table so the camera is aimed at them once again. 

“How much did you hear?” Archie asks.

Betty shrugs. “Not everything. Don’t worry, some of your bromantic secrets are safe.”

“Oh, thank God,” Jughead says, jokingly holding a hand over his heart. 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Archie says. “Have you two watched _Tiger King_ yet?”

Betty and Jughead both shake their heads. “What in the world are you trying to get us to watch now, Archie?” Betty teases, sharing a knowing look with Jughead. It’s a well-established fact that Archie’s usual method for picking a show on Netflix is a game of chance based on whichever outlandishly specific category the algorithm feeds him. Jughead is quite sure he’s never seen Archie take longer than a minute to select a show on Netflix, which has led to some _questionable_ programs playing in their apartment over the years.

“It’s this _crazy_ documentary series that just dropped on Netflix,” Archie says, leaning in closer to the camera in his excitement. “I’m already like, four episodes in.”

Betty and Jughead share an amused look. “Okay, Arch, tell us more,” Betty says, resting her head on Jughead’s shoulder as Archie launches into a monologue. Without even thinking, Jughead curls his own fingers through Betty’s hair as they listen to their best friend through the screen.

* * *

Standing against the counter in her kitchenette, Betty pours wine into the fancy glass Veronica had given her as a housewarming gift. Gripping the glass in her hand, she takes a beat to breathe in the sounds of her new life in this apartment. It’s a calmish Saturday night, just the too-present sirens out the windows and the clicking of Jughead’s laptop keys as he works on his novel at the kitchen table. It’s the longest stretch of time they’ve gone in at least a week without Jughead’s eyes on her and it’s kind of a nice thought. Like Betty is on the same echelon as his novel: something he devotes complete and undivided attention to. 

She stops to brush a kiss to the back of Jughead’s neck, grinning at the slight pause of his fingers before he looks up to shoot her a loving look. “Sorry,” he says, a blush covering his face. “I’m on a roll and it’s been awhile since I’ve had time to write.” 

Betty shakes her head. “Don’t apologize! Cheryl wants to watch _Clueless_ with me over Zoom in a couple minutes. I’m just bringing this wine glass to bed.”

Jughead grins at her. She can see that his fingers are still hovering over the keys as if itching to continue typing. “Have fun with Cheryl,” he says.

“Write many words!” she replies as she bounces away.

11.

**march 22, 2020**

Betty wakes up shivering. “What the _fuck_?” she croaks.

Jughead reaches for her, trying to bring their bodies closer together for warmth. “Okay, the temperature dropped overnight _again_ ,” he says in his sweet sleepy voice.

Betty reaches for the second blanket she keeps folded at the foot of her bed and wraps it around them, grinning when Jughead snuggles even closer into her body. 

They see no reason _not_ to spend their entire Sunday under a mountain of blankets. Betty brings coffee and toast to the bed while Jughead rolls a joint. 

“Archie was right, you know,” he says when she returns, carefully placing the plates and mugs on the nightstand.

“What about this time?” At her dresser, Betty rubs deodorant under her pits and shoves on a new pair of underwear, a fresh sweatshirt. She figures the least she could do at the beginning of this new relationship is put _some_ effort into her personal hygiene, especially in quarantine.

“I was just scrolling through Twitter and _everyone_ was talking about that _Tiger King_ series he was raving about yesterday,” he explains, smiling at Betty as she returns next to him on the bed. “Apparently it’s just like, absolutely absurd.”

Betty sighs, reaching for her mug and taking a sip of coffee. “Well then, I guess we must see it for ourselves.”

Jughead’s already reaching for his laptop. “Exactly what I was thinking, Betts.”

They munch on their toast while Jughead queues up the show. Just the trailer that automatically plays makes Betty grin with anticipation. “I _love_ weird shit,” she says and Jughead laughs. 

He finishes his toast and reaches for the joint and a lighter. “You and me both.”

Betty sighs when her phone rings before Jughead can even spark the joint. “Oh, God,” she says with one glance at her nightstand. “It’s Kevin.”

“Inevitable,” Jughead says, shaking his head as Betty swipes for her phone and answers it.

“We were _waiting_ for your call,” Betty says, putting the phone on speaker and dropping it on the bed between Betty and Jughead.

“Oh, _were_ you?” Kevin replies dramatically.

“Well, we’re just about to start watching something, and that’s when you always seem to call lately,” Betty says dryly.

Kevin laughs. “Well, yes, but you know why I’m really calling.”

Betty and Jughead share an amused look as they both refuse to give in.

“Fine, you absolute _children_ ,” Kevin says exaggeratedly and Jughead laughs next to her. She swats him playfully with her arm. “I just got off the phone with Archie.”

“Ah,” Jughead says. “So you know me and Betty are together?”

Kevin squeals into the speaker and Betty recoils back from the sound. “ _Loud_ , Kevin. Come on. Not cool.”

“I’m sorry! I’m just so excited! You two are so cute, I have been shipping for _so_ long,” he says.

“ _Shipping_?” Jughead says. “Can that term really be applied to people in real life?”

“Has that ever stopped him before?” Betty says and Jughead sighs loudly as Betty laughs.

“Exactly,” Kevin says excitedly. “Now, how’s the sex?”

“ _Kevin_!” Betty shrieks. “Even Archie knew not to ask that one.”

“Well, he got quite an earful himself from what I heard,” Kevin says.

Betty blushes. “We really were about to start a show, Kevin,” Jughead says weakly.

Kevin sighs. “ _Alright_ , I hear you. I’m just so _bored_ and sick with the COVID, as you know.”

“It was _great_ , Kevin okay?” Betty blurts out. “Amazing, fantastic, good times had by all!”

Jughead laughs, snaking his arm around Betty’s shoulder and dropping a kiss to her head. She grins. 

“That’s what we like to hear!” Kevin says along with what sounds like him clapping. “Now, what were you two gonna watch?”

“ _Tiger King_ ,” Betty says.

“Oh my _God_. Me and Fangs _just_ started. It’s truly crazy. I won’t keep you any longer, just...let me know what you think.”

“We’ll talk to you later, Kev!” 

They shake their heads as the call finally hangs up. “Wow, if only we’d known the words ‘Tiger King’ are all it takes to shut him up,” Betty says.

Jughead sparks up the joint soon after, snuggling into Betty under their pile of blankets as they finally hit “play” on the laptop.

* * *

Jughead can’t resist Betty’s pleading eyes or pursed lips, so he ventures out from under the covers to fix them a mid-afternoon snack (what even are meals anymore?) 

It’s strange to have a familiarity around a kitchen that isn’t his own. He reaches for items in cabinets now without really looking. He’s licking a dollop of stray peanut butter off his thumb when his phone rings. Sighing and washing his hands before picking it up off the counter, Jughead answers to hear his old friend’s voice.

“Jug!”

“Hey, Sweets,” Jughead adjusts his phone on his ear as he dries his hands. “How you holding up? I’ve been meaning to call you this weekend.”

“It’s okay, Jug. I know you’re busy with your new girlfriend,” Sweet Pea says, a suggestive lilt to his voice that Jughead can’t really blame him for. Archie and Jughead have been friends with Sweet Pea since high school, and this is the first girl he’s fallen hard enough for to warrant such teasing. 

Jughead turns to sneak a peek at Betty, sitting up under the covers in bed with a book in her lap. “It’s been really amazing,” he admits, heart fluttering at the thought. “We just connect and get along on a whole other level.”

“I’m happy for you, Jug,” Sweet Pea says genuinely.

“Thanks, Sweets,” Jughead says, leaning back against the counter. “But how are you doing? Is your restaurant closed?”

“Yep,” Sweet Pea says with a deep sigh. “I have officially been laid off for...who knows how long.”

Jughead sighs, though this isn’t really news so much as an inevitability of deductive reasoning at this point. “That so sucks, man. Are you gonna apply for unemployment?”

Sweet Pea sighs again. “Yeah, gonna give it a shot this week. Might also see if I can deliver food for one of the apps. My grandma sent me a shit-ton of masks, and I have the old bike.”

“Just be careful out there,” Jughead says, a little nervous about the idea of his friend flying all over Brooklyn making deliveries.

They chat and catch up a bit more while Jughead finishes fixing a truly odd assortment of snacks for Betty. When Sweet Pea and Jughead finally hang up—with promises to talk again soon—Jughead wonders when they’ll see each other again. He feels it, the not-knowing, like a weight on his chest.

* * *

In the evening, Betty snuggles into Jughead, feeling warm and safe and like she wishes there was nowhere else she ever has to be. She feels guilty for dreading work tomorrow when all she has to do is drag herself to the kitchen, while others are suddenly without income. She feels Jughead drop a kiss to her forehead and looks up at him, a smile playing across her lips.

“You’re thinking pretty hard there, Cooper,” Jughead says gently.

“Just having a lot of complicated thoughts about our second week working from home starting tomorrow,” Betty says with a sigh. 

It had been a pretty perfect Sunday, at least as far as quarantined Sundays go. They’d spent most of the day getting high in bed and watching _Tiger King_ , which _had_ to be the only acceptable way to watch the series. Their running commentary had provided a lot of laughs, gasps, and dramatic pauses.

Jughead even volunteered to make dinner, perhaps sensing the laziness Betty couldn’t shake today—or maybe as an apology for the truly terrible Joe Exotic impression he’d developed throughout the day. They ate mac-and-cheese sitting up in bed and listening to the loud hip-hop playing from a car idling outside her building. Jughead grooved along to the music, making her laugh uncontrollably with his facial expressions. When he’d returned to the bed after depositing their bowls in the sink, he wrapped her up in his arms immediately. 

“You don’t like working from home, huh, Betts?” Jughead asks now, watching her intently. 

“I don’t think so,” Betty admits, biting her lip. “But hopefully I’ll get more used to it as time goes on, right?”

“Right,” Jughead says, squeezing her shoulder. “We’ll get through this.”

Betty glances at her phone. It’s only 8:30. “How shall we spend our last hours of weekend freedom?”

“Betty,” Jughead says in a challenging tone. “I think you _know_ what we need to do.”

They only have two episodes left until they finish _Tiger King_. “Promise me you won’t do the impression again,” Betty tries.

“Oh, come on. You _know_ I can’t promise you that.”

Betty sighs. “ _Fine_. Then you have to promise to hold me if I have nightmares about being taken by a tiger cult.”

“Deal.”

They grit their teeth and begin the final two episodes. 

When the credits roll, Betty and Jughead both stare at the laptop screen as if looking through it. “Wow,” Jughead finally says. “We really did that.”

“That was a lot of information to take in over the course of a single day,” Betty says, yawning. “A lot to unpack.”

Jughead laughs. “Well, I’m sure the entire Internet will be happy to have us join the discourse.”

“Tomorrow,” Betty says, standing up to make for the bathroom. “Now, we must rest.”

12.

**march 23, 2020**

Monday brings even colder weather. Jughead jolts awake at 6:30 AM to the sound of something pelting against the window. He immediately notices Betty visibly shivering in his arms and kisses her shoulder. Jughead attempts to move as little as possible to peer out the window and finds little chunks of ice hitting the pane. _Ah, hail. Definitely hail. But in_ March? _Jesus fucking Christ._ He stumbles out of bed, ignoring Betty’s surprisingly loud whine at the loss of his body heat. 

“Is your heat turned on?” he calls back to Betty, making a beeline for the meter he’d spotted near Betty’s front door the other day. After all, the weather has shifted so much over the past couple weeks. He finds the heat set pretty low and shakes his head, quickly turning the dial up to a more suitable temperature.

He returns to the bed, laughing when Betty immediately drapes her body across him. “Why’d you leave?” she asks groggily.

“I had to turn on the heat,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

Indeed, they find upon waking to their usual 8 AM alarm that the weather for the day is a cool high of 33 degrees, unusually cold for late March. But hey, why not throw in some climate-change-disaster level weather on the first full day of the New York stay-at-home order? 

The difference is palpable, the stillness in the neighborhood punctuated only by the haunting uptick in sirens. Things feel apocalyptic. It’s enough to make them both too lazy to shower. 

As it approaches 9 AM and they haul themselves up, Jughead sits on the end of the bed and watches Betty run a brush through her hair. She pulls it into a ponytail as he shoves his beanie on to hide his bed hair. He hadn’t worn it in a few days, something that was entirely new to him. He’d never felt close enough to anyone before to leave it off for extended periods of time like this. Archie’s so prone to one-night stands and inviting random friends over the apartment that Jughead never truly felt comfortable with his beanie off at their place. It’s a significant fact that makes his heart leap.

The hail gives way to a steady rain that continues all day, alternating between drizzle and heavy sheets. 

“Good day to not have to go outside,” Betty remarks dryly a couple hours into their work day when the rain has picked up especially loudly against the window closest to their kitchen table.

“It’s definitely not helping me concentrate though,” Jughead remarks, staring at the email he’s been trying to compose for twenty minutes now.

“You too?” Betty says, looking up from her laptop screen to grin at him. “My workflow is like...significantly slower than last week.”

“Really? Doesn’t the news never sleep or something like that?”

Betty shrugs. “Yes and no,” she says. “They’ve moved a bunch of people off assignments because a lot of stuff we were gonna cover obviously isn’t happening anymore. People are churning out COVID stories left and right, of course, but I’m definitely seeing less stories come across my desk overall today.”

“Ah,” Jughead says. “Yeah, a lot of my work is in limbo at the moment because they’re still trying to adjust release dates for upcoming books and stuff around all the closures. So it’s...weird.”

“Everything’s weird,” Betty says, sighing and pushing her laptop a little away from her. She stares out the window with longing.

After lunch they move to the couch with their laptops and pass a joint back and forth, talking about all the things they miss about the outside world, things they’ll never take for granted again once this all passes.

“Meandering through the grocery store,” Betty says after a long pull on the joint. “Taking as long as I want in there.”

“ _Really_?” Jughead says, his eyes widening. “I kind of _hate_ grocery shopping. I mean, back in the Massachusetts suburbs, they’re spread out more, you have some space. Here, it’s so cramped I spend half the time stressed out, trying to navigate around everyone and saying ‘sorry’ to people I accidentally bump into. I almost never spend enough time there to actually leave with everything I need.”

Betty laughs. “Wow, I did _not_ know that about you! I’m even more impressed by your prowess in the grocery store last weekend.”

Jughead grins, leaning forward to place a light kiss on her nose. “You’re too kind.” He pauses to pull on the joint himself.

“Then, what’s something you _do_ miss about the outside world, if not meandering around the grocery store?”

Jughead thinks for a second, taking a second drag and handing the joint back to Betty before answering. “I miss bookstores the most, I think,” he finally answers. 

“I would _love_ to get lost in a bookstore with you,” Betty says wistfully, reaching forward and resting one of her arms on his thigh as she smokes.

“You and me, after quarantine ends. Greenlight Bookshop. The Strand. McNally-Jackson. Or wherever else you get your books.”

Betty smiles, leaning forward to kiss him. “It’s a date, Juggie.”

* * *

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Betty says, groaning, as she reaches for the remote. “You mind if I turn this off?”

Jughead shakes his head. “Be my guest.” 

Betty shoots him a grateful smile. “I just can’t believe...people have been wide-scale staying at home for what, a week? Ten days? And the GOP is already showing more concern for stock prices than human lives!”

Jughead exchanges a sad smile with Betty, reaching across the kitchen table to clasp her hand. “‘Tis the American way,” he quips half-heartedly.

“It’s just so wild how this pandemic is laying bare literally every single crack in the system that Bernie’s platform is trying to solve,” Betty says, stroking Jughead’s hand, grateful to have something to do with her anxious hands.

Jughead smiles. “And yet, they won’t let us conduct this primary in a safe way so folks can vote for him and not get sick amidst our massively underfunded and unprepared private medical system,” he adds.

Betty nods, sighing in frustration. Jughead grins at her and she attempts another feeble smile. They’d kind of had this rant already, at lunch. Experts were already estimating that one million Americans could succumb to COVID-19, a scale that could’ve been prevented if someone who believed in, like, _science_ was at the helm. But since this is 2020 in the U.S...Betty again sighs loudly. She feels Jughead’s hand tighten in hers and looks down in alarm. 

“You’re fidgeting,” Jughead says before she can say anything.

Betty shakes her head. “It’s like I can’t turn my mind off,” she confesses. “I’m just so...angry. And scared. To think that there are people trying to essentially justify sacrificing a portion of our population for the good of getting the ‘economy’ back on track.” She stops herself before she ramps up into another full-blown rant. 

She can feel anger pooling in her belly in that familiar way. That familiar way that’s always scared her. She’s had trouble keeping it at bay for as long as she can remember. She lifts her eyes to meet Jughead’s and sees only kindness and concern reflected back at her. Betty knows, logically, that Jughead would understand. That he wouldn’t judge. But she’s also terrified of letting that part of her out too soon into this new relationship.

Jughead fixes her with a sympathetic stare, squeezes her hand again. “You okay?” he asks gently.

“You know me too well,” she finally says. “I’m feeling pretty anxious and depressed about just...everything.”

“No need to explain. What can we do to make it better?” He removes his hand from Betty’s and starts stacking their long-abandoned dinner plates, making for the sink to begin his nightly dishwashing routine.

Betty takes the opportunity to steady her breathing, trying to clear her mind. “I think it’s time for the crafts phase of quarantine,” she says in a slightly nervous voice.

Jughead turns around, grinning at her. “I’m game,” he says, bringing relief to Betty’s face. A little part of her was afraid he wouldn’t want to indulge her.

“Good,” she says, getting up to peruse her craft box as Jughead returns to washing the dishes.

Betty comes back to the kitchen table brandishing a few paintbrushes and two sets of watercolor paint. 

“Uh-oh,” Jughead says, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “You really trust me with paint?”

“It’s _watercolor,_ Jug,” Betty says, coming into the kitchen and reaching flirtatiously around his body to grab plastic cups from the cabinet. Jughead plays along, tucking his face into her neck and nipping. She squeals with delight, turning around in Jughead’s arms and grinning when he immediately encircles her waist.

“Are you saying that in an ‘any idiot can watercolor’ kind of way?” Jughead teases, leaning down again to press a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. 

She moans a little. He already knows _exactly_ where to aim. “Perceptive,” she says breathlessly. “And, yes, that is _exactly_ what I mean.” 

She drops the cups to the counter and reaches up to connect their lips, pulling him into a kiss that quickly becomes passionate. She pulls back first, hand still cupping his chin, breathless as she is half the time she’s around Jughead these days. “Watercolors first, then sex,” she reasons and he grins down at her, giving her another kiss.

“You’re the perfect woman.”

Betty assigns Jughead to grind weed and grab her bong while she spreads a garbage bag over the table to catch any excess mess. She fills the plastic cups with water and rips fresh sheets of watercolor paper off her pad for each of them, uncaps the plastic tops off the watercolor sets. A strange calm comes over Betty when she finally spots the little ovals of pigment, just waiting to come alive at the first sign of water.

Jughead looks nervous when he approaches the kitchen table again with a packed bong. “Where do you want me?” he says and Betty raises her eyebrow suggestively. “Get your mind out of the gutter, _Bett-y_ ,” Jughead jokes, exaggerating her name.

Betty giggles. “Sit here,” she says, pointing to what has become his usual spot during any given work day.

He looks nervously at the watercolor set and paintbrush before him, the water cup set off to the side. “What do I do?” he says.

Betty laughs. “You use water to activate the pigment.” 

She sits across from him and lets him watch her wet the page, biting her lip as she tries to decide what color to use. Her eyes flit to light pink first and she doesn’t question it, dipping her wettened brush into the well and grinning when her brush comes away practically dripping in a shade that reminds her of cherry blossom trees. She drags her brush as if setting the color free, watches it run down the already-wet page, the little pools of pigment dripping and sliding along the water. This is what she loves about arts and crafts to ease the anxiety. It’s something to focus on that she can get herself not to take too seriously, not to overthink. She lets her instincts guide which colors to use, where to let her brush land and for how long. It’s so peaceful, like finally surrendering control to a power beyond her own.

She tells Jughead all of this, a little shyly, when he asks her “why watercolors?” a mere minute later. The look reflected back at her when she finishes her explanation takes Betty by surprise, there’s so much love in it.

“So,” Betty says, clearing her throat and frowning at his still-blank sheet of paper. “Wanna put something funny on while we paint?”

Jughead nods, gripping one of his paintbrushes nervously. ( _Progress_ , Betty thinks, as she gets up to grab the remote and flick the TV on. _He’s at least_ touching it _now_.) When she returns, she begins swiping mindlessly through Netflix.

“ _The Office_ ,” she suggests, hovering over the thumbnail, but Jughead shakes his head.

“Rewatched it too recently,” Jughead says and Betty nods, moving along.

“ _Derry Girls_?”

“Eh, not in the mood.”

Betty stops again, a smile spreading across her face. “ _Schitt’s Creek_?”

Jughead shrugs. “I’ve never seen it.”

Betty’s eyes widen. “You’ve _never_ seen it? Please let me show you the wonder that is _Schitt’s Creek_. It’s such a light-hearted show, perfect for quarantine.” Betty feels the desperation in her voice and Jughead clearly can too because he concedes immediately.

He laughs aloud within minutes, already entranced by the combined forces of the Levy family and Catherine O’Hara. Two minutes in, Jughead finally wets his brush and dips it into the yellow. They pass the bong back and forth, both splitting concentration between laughing at the dialogue and sweeping their brushes across paper.

It takes Betty till the credits on the pilot episode roll to realize Jughead has attempted to paint her ponytail. The colors are running, but she can feel the sheepish smile he shoots her all the way down to her toes.

13\. 

**march 24, 2020**

“Oh my _fucking_ God,” Betty says, turning around from where she’s fixing them sandwiches in the kitchen. “Have you seen what Trump said?” she adds in silent response to Jughead’s questioning look.

He shakes his head, a grim look crossing his face. “Ugh, lay it on me,” he says.

Betty leans back against the counter and reads from _The New York Times_ app on her phone. “‘President Trump said on Tuesday that he wanted to reopen the country for business by Easter, on April 12,’” Betty pauses for Jughead’s audible gasp and face-palm. “‘-despite widespread warnings from public health experts that the worst effects of the coronavirus were still weeks away and that lifting the restrictions now would result in unnecessary deaths.’”

“I truly have no words,” Jughead says, still shaking his head at the kitchen table.

“Is it too early to smoke?” Betty quips, laughing as she returns to preparing their lunches.

Jughead hops onto Twitter and reads Betty funny leftist political commentary as they eat their sandwiches. 

Betty peers back down at the article, still open on her phone. She gasps again at one of the paragraphs farther down and starts reading as soon as she sees Jughead’s eyes whip up to meet her. “Anyone who has recently left New York City should self-quarantine for 14 days after leaving the metropolitan area. The region is where about _60 percent_ of all of the new cases are coming from.”

“Holy fuck,” Jughead says, sighing. “This is not exactly a time when I’m feeling great about our usual New York exceptionalism.”

Betty shakes her head, takes a thoughtful bite of her sandwich. “All they can talk about is the economy. It’s sickening. Who _cares_ about the stock market when thousands and thousands of human lives are on the line?” She sighs. “Sorry, we basically had this conversation yesterday.”

“It’s a conversation we’ll be forced to have a thousand more times, Betty,” Jughead says, shrugging. “I’ll never get tired of having this conversation with _you_.”

Betty grins, reaching across the table to clasp his hand.

“And hey,” Jughead says, smiling at her. “I saw on Instagram earlier that Bernie’s having a coronavirus town hall with Rep. Jamila Prayapal. Maybe we can tune in later...if that Zoom call is over in time.”

Betty laughs. “We’re relying on Archie and Kevin here. We can always catch it online after. Lord knows we need the catharsis of hearing people who actually care about human lives discuss the proper response to this goddamn crisis.”

* * *

Jughead thought he used to hate normal social gatherings, but ten minutes into their evening Zoom call, he thinks that he somehow hates this even more. 

It had been Kevin and Archie’s idea, pitched in the apparently very active group chat that Betty, Kevin, and Archie maintain. When Betty told him this, he’d quipped, “What’s the opposite of FOMO?” which earned him a playful swat on the arm and a kiss that Betty smiled into as she pulled him closer.

It’s strange, seeing your friends sitting in little digital rectangles, like characters in the fucking Brady Brunch or something. They’re crowded around the kitchen table with Betty’s laptop open and the bong between them; in a neat little row sit Kevin and Fangs lounging on their couch in blankets; Archie busy alternating between different _Tiger King_ -themed background images in an attempt to find the perfect one; and Sweet Pea drinking beer in his bed and laughing at Archie. 

“Okay, okay,” Archie says, apparently having settled on a background that makes it look like there’s a baby tiger perched on his shoulder. He sits staring at everyone, as if calling court into session. 

“So...is this like, _Tiger King_ book club?” Sweet Pea asks. “Like, did you write prompts, Archie?”

Betty and Jughead both burst out laughing, Jughead coughing as he’d been in the middle of taking a bong rip. 

“Sweet Pea, you’re gonna kill me,” Betty says, clutching her stomach and wiping a tear from her eye.

Archie shoves his cell phone into his pocket on screen though. “Forget it, we don’t have to use my prompts. We can make it organic.”

That only brings another round of uncontrollable laughter from all parties. Finally, everyone settles down when Betty clears her throat. “Okay,” she says. “So, I for one, think we need to start by discussing the fact that there were _multiple_ sex cults.” Jughead smiles, watching Betty rant about the exploitative living conditions for some of the “wives” in the documentary series.

Jughead nods when she finishes, a smile still fixed on his face as he rests an arm on her shoulder without even thinking about it. “Not to mention the numerous labor violations.” Betty smiles at him, letting Jughead keep his hold on her as she takes a bong rip.

Sweet Pea nods enthusiastically. “I mean, that arm just got ripped off and then he was back to work like, right away! Pretty wild.”

“Not to mention that Carol Baskin had a literal hierarchy made of color-coded t-shirts for her unpaid volunteers aka _slaves_ ,” Betty says and Jughead squeezes her shoulder as he laughs along with everyone else at stoned, passionate Betty.

“I love stoned Betty,” Kevin says, his voice still audibly a little sick. (Fangs is almost entirely on the mend and Kevin is on the upswing but more sick than Fangs at this point. The update had lasted a good four minutes at the beginning of the call. Jughead had felt a little bit like an asshole the one time he’d spaced out and Betty kicked him under the table.)

“Oh, yeah,” Jughead says, grinning at Betty. “It’s like, all the best things about Betty Cooper magnified, plus she’s less anxious which somehow makes her more hilarious.”

Betty blushes furiously red even as she looks up at him, a look of complete adoration on her face that again makes Jughead curse the unfortunate reality of their current Zoom call obligation. 

“Oh, my _God_ ,” Kevin says. “Y’all are literally _so_ cute.” He points to the screen while looking at Fangs on the couch. “Do you see now? Do you see why I told you I shipped this?” He looks so indignant that it makes Sweet Pea laugh hysterically and brings Betty and Jughead’s attention back to the screen.

Jughead sighs. “Did I just hear the word I thought I heard?”

“Yes, Juggie,” Betty says.

“ _Juggie_?” Archie asks, a smirk playing across his face.

Betty blushes again and Jughead simply frowns at Archie (or at least, attempts to. _Can one really stare_ at _someone over Zoom? What a weird time we live in_.) “Only Betty is allowed to call me that,” Jughead says, pointing his finger threateningly at the screen.

“Even through the computer, I felt that,” Kevin says, clapping his hands. 

“Wow, as a director, I feel like that’s quite an endorsement, Jug,” Betty says.

“Okay, but guys,” Archie huffs dramatically. “We haven’t even touched the _surface_ of _Tiger King_.”

Everyone sighs. Sweet Pea takes a swig of beer and says, “ _Fine,_ Red. Take out the prompts.”

Jughead has never felt more grateful for Betty’s killer reflexes in his life than when she manages to screenshot a picture of Archie gleefully pulling out his phone and starting to read his _Tiger King_ discussion prompts. 

(Be careful what you ask for. There turned out to be thirty prompts. Suffice it to say, they did not make it in time to watch Bernie’s coronavirus town hall live.)

14.

**march 25, 2020**

“You have therapy tonight, right?” Jughead asks as they’re both packing up their laptops for the day. 

She looks up at him questioningly. “Yep, at 7.” 

Jughead stands up in the kitchen, arms crossed and an admittedly guilty look on his face. “What do you say to me making you my _specialty_ for dinner? So you don’t even have to worry about cooking before your appointment.”

He’s grateful that Betty blushes and smiles, a full one that reaches her eyes. “You’re too sweet, Jug,” she says, getting up to put her work files away in the bedroom. She returns to the kitchen with the bong and her grinder and says, “So what’s your specialty exactly?”

Jughead reaches into the fridge and pulls out the humorously-large bag of shredded cheese he’d spontaneously swiped on their grocery store trip. Betty bursts out laughing, hand clasped over her mouth. “Nachos,” Jughead finally replies, laughing a little himself.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Betty says. “ _Yes_. I’m so down.”

Over dinner, they take in their daily news update to find the Senate battling it out over the stimulus bill﹘the CARES Act﹘which is hopefully set to be passed that night.

“Our boy Bernie is fighting for us,” Betty says as Jughead stands by the oven waiting for the nachos to finish.

“Of course he is. Lay it on me.”

“So, Bernie has threatened to hold up the bill if they don’t place stricter restrictions on the ‘corporate welfare fund’ they’re giving all these corporations with no strings attached,” Betty explains.

“Oh, yeah. Meanwhile, we all know that without strings attached, these companies will do everything to boost their bottom line, enrich their CEOs, and, if they can get away with it, use a pandemic to union-bust too!” Jughead says sarcastically.

“Basically what Bernie said,” Betty agrees, giggling as she continues reading her phone at the table. “Oh, my _God_ ,” she says again.

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack, woman,” Jughead says, reaching down to open the oven door and peer in. “Almost there.”

“Those nachos are a science, huh?”

“Don’t mock me, Cooper.” Jughead shoots her a boyish grin and he notices the little spots of pink she still gets on her cheeks sometimes when he teases. He gets it; he still can’t believe this is happening some days.

“I would never,” Betty flirts back.

“So, what did you say ‘oh my God’ about?”

“A video that you must watch once the nachos are ready,” Betty answers with a mischievous grin.

“Well, then, guess I’m in luck,” Jughead says as he reaches down to retrieve the nachos from the oven.

Indeed, Betty finds Jughead’s nachos delicious. Just a little more delicious than the video clip Betty shows him as they munch on their dinner.

“The American people, at a time of extreme wealth inequality, do _not_ want corporate welfare,” Bernie says on a C-SPAN clip going viral on Twitter. 

“Exactly,” Jughead says through a mouthful of melted cheese. Betty shoots him a supposedly-disgusted look though it quickly devolves into a grin. “You like me,” he says and she blushes, not arguing.

“We want taxpayer dollars to be used in every way we can to protect the working families, the 50% of people who are living paycheck to paycheck!” Bernie says and Betty and Jughead cheer.

“As we speak tonight, half of our people in this country, the richest country in the history of the world, are living paycheck to paycheck. They’re waking up and saying, ‘I can barely make it on the paycheck I got, $13, $14 an hour and now that paycheck is gone. How am I gonna pay rent? How am I gonna put food on the table and make sure the lights remain on, how am I gonna pay my student debt, how am I gonna pay my credit card debt?’” Bernie continues.

Then Bernie starts talking about how this bill will thankfully include what it should﹘the largest expansion of unemployment benefits in American history. Bernie rightly points out that entirely due to decades of anti-worker Republican policy, fewer than 50% of Americans are currently eligible for unemployment benefits. Betty and Jughead clap and “boo” at all the right moments, as they usually do.

“Holy shit,” Betty breathes after Bernie says that economists are predicting unemployment levels to reach 20-30 percent by June. The fear in her eyes causes Jughead to pause his eating, wipe his hand on a napkin, and clasp Betty’s hand in his. She shoots him a grateful smile.

Bernie then talks about how important it is that restaurant workers and gig workers who make “starvation wages,” as well as “so-called independent contractors” are all included in the bill and Betty and Jughead return to clapping to punctuate Bernie’s points.

“Oh shit, Bernie’s about to _really_ go off, I can tell,” Jughead says.

“Wait for it,” Betty agrees excitedly.

Bernie starts talking about the extra $600 a week included in the bill, which everyone who qualifies for unemployment will receive from the federal government on top of the amount their state unemployment benefits provide. Republicans, being greedy capitalist motherfuckers, had opposed this provision.

Bernie assumes the voice he uses when ridiculing capitalists and Betty squeals in delight. Betty and Jughead clasp hands again. “And now I find some of my Republican colleagues are very distressed,” Bernie says sarcastically. “They’re very upset that somebody who’s making 10, 12 bucks an hour might end up with a paycheck for four months _more_ than they received last week.”

“You tell em, Bernie!” Betty says.

“ _Oh my God_ , the universe is collapsing!” Bernie continues sarcastically and Betty and Jughead both burst out laughing. “Imagine that!”

“That was, honestly, cathartic,” Jughead says.

“I’m just so glad we have someone like Bernie fighting for us,” Betty says. “However, I’ve never been more excited for therapy because, like…”

“Reality?” Jughead asks, frowning.

Betty nods sadly. “Yeah.”

They resolve to watch another episode of _Schitt’s Creek_ for the rest of their dinner, having had their fill of news for the evening. 

* * *

It’s the quiet moments like these that Betty knows she will always cherish.

She closes her laptop after her therapy appointment, shaking her shoulders out and letting out a deep breath. She smiles at the thought of Jughead waiting for her in bed.

As she approaches the bed, she sees that Jughead is sitting up against the headboard, headphones in as he types away rapidly on his laptop. “Hey, you,” she murmurs as she plugs her own laptop into the power strip.

Jughead looks up and grins when he catches her eye, pausing to pull out his headphones. “Hey,” he says. “Sorry, not to use this line on you again, but I’m on a roll.”

Betty shakes her head, pulling her leggings off and replacing them with a cooler pair of boxer shorts. “That’s the kind of line I’d _love_ to hear repeated, Jug,” she argues. She crosses the room for her dresser, squeezing lotion into her palms and rubbing her arms. “I love to see you inspired and getting writing done. Don’t let me disturb you, go back to writing.”

He smiles. “Can I get a kiss first?” he asks and Betty laughs, coming back toward the bed and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Thanks,” he says coyly. “I need it for the story, of course.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Betty says. “I am but your muse.”

Jughead returns to typing almost immediately and Betty laughs before climbing into bed and sitting beside him. She takes a couple rips off the bong while catching up on her group chats with Toni and Veronica and Kevin and Archie. Then, a peaceful smile covering her face, she opens the book she’s been reading and gets lost again in the simple pleasure of a story.

(The bill passes the Senate late in the night, after Betty and Jughead have already turned out the lamp and cuddled into each other. Onto the House.)

15.

**march 26, 2020**

On Thursday afternoon, Jughead stands staring out the kitchen window as Jellybean cries on the other end of the phone. The sun is shining outside and Jughead can see a couple people in light jackets walking on the sidewalk below. (55 degrees today. Betty had looked up the weather earlier, then thrown open her bedroom window and stared out of it longingly.)

Jughead felt a little guilty when Jellybean called around 4:30 PM. He and Betty had rolled a joint only a couple minutes earlier and he was still laughing at something Betty said when he answered, only to instantly regret it when he heard Jellybean’s sobs. She’d been laid off, the clothing store where she’d been working in the mall closed for the foreseeable future. Jellybean was just out of college, living in an apartment with her girlfriend near the same school Jughead had gone to. She was terrified about making rent payments, already without health insurance as it is. Neither of them talk to their parents particularly often and suffice it to say, there is no financial safety net to speak of.

“Don’t worry, Jelly,” Jughead says soothingly when there’s finally a pause in Jellybean’s breathless ranting and crying. “Listen, I got you. I will make sure you have a roof over your head and something to eat. No matter what.”

He hears a sniffle over the phone. “How much do you even _make_ , Jug?” she snarks and Jughead can’t help but laugh.

“Now, _that’s_ the Jellybean I know and love,” he says. “And I make enough, okay? Enough to make that promise.”

Jellybean laughs shakily. “Okay,” she says. 

“I’m really sorry, JB,” he says again, shifting the phone on his ear. “Not to take away from your plight, but this is unfortunately reality for so many people right now. Did you hear Sweet Pea got laid off?”

Jellybean giggles. “I saw his Instagram story, if that’s what you mean. It’s pretty funny.”

“Right? I was telling Betty the other day that he could be a viral internet personality of the low-rent Hasan Piker variety. You know, because he’s hot. Woke Bae and all that.”

“Jug, are you high?”

“Don’t be a narc. I’m an adult.”

“It’s 4:30 in the afternoon on a Thursday!”

“Let’s not judge each other now, okay? It’s hard enough these days as it is,” Jughead says and he turns around when he hears Betty laughing from where she’s working at the kitchen table. He sticks his tongue out at her and she grins back at him before returning her attention to her screen.

“Is that Betty?” Jellybean asks and he notices her voice goes shyer. He guesses it makes sense; most of his friends don’t have experience talking to him about his romantic interests. His romantic experiences prior to Betty had been relatively meaningless, mostly forgettable, and all had occurred on his state college campus. Not many people had heard about them because there hadn’t been anything he’d wanted to share before. Now, though…

“Yes,” he says and he wonders if he sounds as hopelessly in love as he feels. They haven’t said _that_ word, both already well-aware of how strange the situation in which they’re dating is. But he knows it’s only a matter of time. 

“She has a pretty laugh,” Jellybean says.

“Yeah,” Jughead says, looking at Betty typing on her computer with that intense focus. “She does.”

Jellybean talks about her girlfriend for another fifteen minutes and Jughead lets her, just happy to hear her sounding normal again. When they hang up, he finally returns to his spot at the table and opens his laptop, quickly responding to the sprinkling of emails he’d missed. When he looks up again, Betty is watching him curiously.

“Whatcha looking at, beautiful?” he flirts and she grins. 

“I don’t know much about your sister,” she says and he gulps. 

“I guess that’s true,” he says. He pushes back his chair, closing his laptop again. “Well, I’m all done for the day. What do you say we finish that joint and I’ll tell you about her?”

Betty looks relieved, blushing as she shuts her laptop too and nods. “That sounds perfect. I can tell you about...my sister too. I don’t think I really have either.”

(Maybe this is why they get along: two people who avoid talking about their estranged parents so much they hadn’t even mentioned it to each other, the ones who would understand the most.) 

“I don’t remember how much I’ve told you over the years,” Jughead starts, using the excuse of sparking the joint to avert his eyes.

“I think...you told me your parents aren’t exactly together anymore. And that you don’t really go home to see them for holidays,” Betty says tentatively, smiling at Jughead when he passes her the joint.

“Yep,” he says. “Okay, so...I don’t like talking about it, clearly.” Betty giggles at that. “But my childhood pretty much sucked. I practically raised Jellybean. My dad’s an alcoholic who has been on and off the wagon my whole life.”

Betty’s sympathetic look doesn’t irritate him the way some people’s expressions have when he’s revealed this information in the past. She takes her second hit with a thoughtful gaze in his direction. “That’s really hard, Jug,” Betty says softly as she flicks ash from the tip of the J into the ashtray. 

“It was,” Jughead admits. “Especially considering my dear mother wasn’t much better. Never able to hold down a job, always getting in irrational fights or stealing from the company. She was practically addicted to shoplifting, dealt drugs sometimes too. Jellybean and I really think she had some undiagnosed mental illness and it’s honestly really sad thinking about it now. Wondering how things could’ve turned out if she’d gotten the help she needed back when it would’ve really made a difference for our whole family.”

“Jug, that sounds like a pretty rough situation,” Betty says, reaching forward to rest a hand on his arm for a few seconds as she passes off the joint.

“It was, but you know, we both got enough money in financial aid to go to the same state college. And now we don’t really have to talk to them anymore. Jellybean and I are each other’s real family; always have been, always will be,” Jughead explains, taking a long drag when he finishes.

“Wow,” Betty says. “Thanks for...trusting me with that.”

Jughead nods. “You’re one of the only people I’d want to know,” he says. “And I’m sure I’ll tell you more. It’s just…”

“Too much to tell all at once?” Betty supplies and Jughead nods, grinning as he gives her the joint.

“I swear you can read my mind,” he says and she blushes, taking a big hit while keeping her eyes locked flirtatiously on his. 

“My family’s stuff is...also too much to tell all at once,” she says. “But I don’t really talk to...any of my immediate family. Cheryl is the closest family member I still have, and it’s why we’re so close.”

Jughead nods, thinking of how loving their exchange last week had been. How protective Cheryl seemed to be of Betty. “I’m glad you have Cheryl,” he says.

Betty smiles. “Me too,” she says softly. “My parents are...really difficult people. Both very critical and mean. Obsessed with perfection. It drove me and my sister into two opposite directions, instead of bringing us closer like it did with you and Jellybean.”

“I’m sorry, Betts,” Jughead says. He can’t imagine not having the bond he has with Jellybean.

Betty shrugs. “It was partially by my parents’ design. They used to play us off each other all the time. They’re very manipulative people. For me, it just created a drive to escape my parents. I kept my head down, got into NYU, took out the loans I needed to, and then never looked back.” Betty takes a pause to breathe then says, “For Polly...well, she rebelled. Fought my parents every step of the way. Refused to apply to colleges, saying she didn’t want to go. And eventually, she ran away to this cult called the Farm. And as far as I know, she’s still there.”

Jughead’s face must look as shocked as he feels because Betty giggles. “Sorry,” Jughead says quickly, catching himself.

“Nah, it’s okay,” Betty says, laughing still. “We’re smoking a joint, Jug, and I just told you my sister joined a _cult._ It’s ridiculous. If I didn’t laugh about it, I don’t know how I’d go on.”

Jughead smiles at her, accepting the near-roach she passes him. “You’re right. So...are your parents still together?”

Betty shakes her head. “Polly’s two years older than me and the stress of her running away was the final nail in the coffin for their marriage. They were always unhappy, but they finally got divorced in my junior year of high school and I’ve barely seen my dad since he moved out. Unfortunately, that also left me alone with the wrath of Alice Cooper for my last year and a half at home. But I have only talked to her like...a couple times a year on the phone for the past five years or so.”

Jughead nods. “About the same for me and my dad,” Jughead says. “My mom is more elusive.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” Jughead says. “Last time I saw her was probably when I was home from college for Christmas my freshman year. She started disappearing more often after that. My parents were sort of on-again off-again our old whole childhood, but I guess that kind of ended things on a more permanent basis with my dad. She likes Jellybean the most, it’s never been a secret. So she’ll give her a call every few months. That’s how we know she’s alive.”

Betty sighs deeply, ashing the finished joint in the ashtray. “Wow,” she says. “I’ve never felt less judged sharing that in my life.”

Jughead smiles, reaching forward and cupping Betty’s face in his hands. “I was just thinking the same thing.” They kiss, and Jughead feels his stomach flutter.

* * *

“I think we’ve pushed this as far as we can,” Betty says, shaking the last of her weed from a mason jar into her grinder. Jughead is finishing up washing the dishes from dinner. “We need to order weed.”

“Well,” Jughead says. “Today is technically our 15th day of quarantine, right?”

Betty nods. “Oh, yeah. Hey, well, we made it two whole weeks!” 

He crosses the room to give her a sound high-five. “But, yeah. We _cannot_ do without weed right now,” he says. “Like, I’m trying to stay _alive_ in quarantine. That’s the whole point.”

Betty nods enthusiastically. “ _Exactly._ Dealers are _definitely_ still working. They _are_ essential workers.”

“Hell yeah they are.”

Betty laughs. “No, but seriously, my delivery service actually sent me a message a couple days ago to let me know they’re still delivering, but request that we put in the order for exactly what we want beforehand so we can do a very quick exchange at the door and speed up the process.”

“That is very smart,” Jughead says. “Good to see our fine dealers being flexible and staying safe at these trying times. How much do you wanna buy?”

Jughead ventures to the ATM in the bodega downstairs with a mask on and takes out cash for the both of them. They pass their final bowl of weed back and forth while watching another episode of _Schitt’s Creek_ , and Betty is delighted when she receives a message letting her know her favorite delivery driver, Rachel, is on the way.

“She’s one of the least awkward and most chill dealers I’ve ever had,” she explains to Jughead.

They stock the fuck up, putting in an order for an ounce spread out among a couple different strains, and Rachel makes a joke about it when she arrives at Betty’s front door in a mask and gloves a mere twenty minutes later. “You staying safe?” Betty asks and the surprisingly-short girl nods. 

“You? It seems like you’re picking up more than usual. Just stocking up for the quarantine?”

“Well,” Betty says, looking behind her to where Jughead sits on the couch laughing at the TV. Rachel follows her eye-line. “My new boyfriend Jughead is staying with me.”

Rachel grins at her, accepting the dollar bills Betty hands her. “Oooooh. Amazing. Well, enjoy. And stay safe.”

“Thanks, Rachel. You too!”

“I think my favorite dealer likes you,” Betty says when she returns to the living room with their ounce and Jughead turns a delicious shade of red.

16.

**march 27, 2020**

Sixteen days into quarantine, Jughead can’t believe that he knows _exactly_ what Betty’s ass wiggling against him in the morning means.

“We have to work soon, Betty,” Jughead whispers, though he grips her shoulders, closing his eyes at the friction between them.

“We’ll be quick, I promise,” she murmurs, kissing the back of his neck and tugging at his hair.

Jughead groans. “How could I say no?”

Betty squeals, immediately getting up and diving on top of Jughead so she’s straddling his lap. “Morning, Jug,” she whispers, pulling her top over her head.

Jughead reaches forward, grabbing each breast lovingly. “Good morning, insatiable girl,” he responds tenderly.

She smiles at him before grabbing his face in her hands and kissing him hard.

(They’re late logging onto work. TGIF, indeed.)

* * *

Halfway through the day, Betty’s magazine announces that they’ll be lifting the paywall on all their COVID-19 coverage for the duration of the pandemic.

“That’s good, right?” Jughead asks, leaning against the counter while Betty makes them grilled cheeses on the stove.

Betty shrugs. “I mean, yes. It’s important that everyone has access to this news coverage right now, obviously.”

“But?”

Betty sighs, trying to figure out how to put to words what she’s been feeling since she opened the memo. “Look, I know I have job security,” Betty says.

“Go unions,” Jughead says.

(Betty’s magazine had been one of the magazines to organize during the first digital media unionization wave a couple years ago. She was therefore quite lucky to already be working under a signed union contract.)

“Exactly,” she says, nodding as she flips the bread on the stove. “It’s just that...I don’t know, change scares me. I mean, when has large-scale change in the media industry ever turned out in favor of the workers, you know?”

She plops the sandwiches onto plates and meets Jughead’s eyes as she hands him one. “I do know,” he says. “And I get it. A part of me is scared too.”

“Thanks, glad it’s not just me,” Betty says as they both walk the short distance back to the table. “It’s just hard not to have complicated feelings about everything right now.”

“Hey, but look on the bright side: the House is voting on the relief package today. So if we _do_ get laid off, at least we’ll have our stimulus money!”

Betty gives Jughead a weak grin that makes him laugh. “Yay America,” she says sarcastically.

* * *

“Alright, let’s see what’s happening tonight in the wonderful world of daily New York coronavirus update emails,” Jughead jokes as he and Betty plop down on the couch after packing up their work-stations for the day. 

Betty laughs, sighing. “I’m packing the bong and bracing for the worst.”

“That’s the spirit, Betts,” Jughead says, slinging an arm around Betty. He’s happy that she settles back into it, bong clutched in hand. 

“Oh, fuck, the relief package actually passed the House earlier and we missed it!” Jughead says. 

“Oh, thank God,” Betty says through a cloud of smoke.

“Anddd...let’s see, New York schools are now closed through at least April 15, announces Cuomo…” He pauses to take his own hit off the bong and then continues, “De Blasio is warning people he’ll start imposing fines if people don’t stay the fuck home.”

Betty laughs. “Typical.”

“Yep. Let’s see, what else…‘a coalition of good government organizations endorsed moving New York’s presidential primary from April 28 to June 23 amid the coronavirus pandemic, which comes days after elections commissioners in the state also backed the move.’ Jesus Christ, we are _never_ gonna get to vote.”

Betty sighs deeply. “It is so hard to have faith in this horrid country.”

Jughead rubs Betty’s shoulder and she smiles at him appreciatively. “What else, Jug?”

“Let’s see...oh, God. This is a bad one. ‘Nearly 90% of U.S. mayors who responded to a national survey on coronavirus preparedness said they lack sufficient test kits, face masks, and other protective equipment for their emergency responders and medical workers.’”

Betty shakes her head. “There are no words.”

“Pass me the bong?”

Betty laughs, handing it to him, when her phone dings. “Ugh, what?” she says sarcastically before looking at it. “Oh, it’s my weather app letting me know to watch out for storms coming over the weekend. Lovely.”

Jughead hands Betty back the bong and takes a final scan of the email he’d been reading from, his stomach sinking when he notices a figure he’d missed on his first read-through. “Storms feel appropriate,” he says dryly.

Betty shoots him a questioning look. 

Jughead breathes in deep. “As of today, the state reports 44,635 confirmed cases.”

Betty gasps. “Holy _shit_ , that’s a lot.”

Jughead nods sadly. “And 519 deaths across the state so far. I mean, as of this morning…”

Betty shakes her head. “Jesus Christ.”

They both sit there quietly for a few minutes, Jughead still rubbing Betty’s shoulder in a manner he hopes is soothing. “You doing okay, Betts?” he asks when she leans into him. He can feel her shake her head “no.”

“Tell me how I can help,” he tries, hoping it’s the right thing to say.

Betty sighs, sitting up again and facing him with some reluctance. “I...I’m kind of scared to go outside. There, I said it.”

Jughead nods. “Okay. I get it. I mean, almost 45,000 cases and just the ones that are confirmed…”

“It’s a lot,” Betty blurts out. “Right?”

Jughead laughs at the indignant look on her face. “Yes, yes it is.”

She smiles, though she still looks nervous. “I don’t know, it’s just...I know we’re past the 14-day self-quarantine mark as far as being exposed to Kevin goes.”

“Yes,” Jughead confirms, watching the gears turn in Betty’s head.

“So I know, logically, that it doesn’t matter how we’re running low on groceries again because we should be fine to just go for an errand. Or even just a walk, for exercise,” she sounds terrified and Jughead’s heart clenches. “But...I’m scared.”

“That we’ll be exposed to the virus again?”

Betty nods. “I think? I don’t know. I just feel...so much anxiety every time I think about _actually_ going out there. Since like, yesterday.”

Jughead rubs her back. “It’s okay, Betty. We’re not completely out of food, are we?”

“We have a couple more days’ worth, _if_ we get creative,” Betty says after a beat.

“Let’s order out tonight,” Jughead says quickly, before she can protest. “And we’ll deal with going to get groceries again when we’re out. No need to worry about that now.”

Betty nods, leaning forward and placing a kiss on his lips. He’s a little surprised, though he smiles into it, gripping the back of her neck as she deepens the kiss. “I...I can’t tell you how grateful I am to have you,” she says when she pulls back, staring up at him like he’s the only one she wants to look at.

 _I love you_ , he thinks.

But it’s too soon for that. 

So he kisses her head instead, pulls her closer into him, and says, “How do you feel about pizza?”

“And a movie?” Betty asks, her voice giddy.

“Pick something we don’t have to pay too much attention to,” Jughead agrees, grinning down at Betty. “I have a feeling I’m gonna be distracted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol i hope i remembered the ~general~ rules of the game of life correctly????? I remember those little cars being used as fuel for shitty homophobic jokes in the early 2000s. 
> 
> I tried to just provide the broad strokes things I was most horrified by in _Tiger King_ but also like it’s been a few weeks since ~that~ phase of quarantine for me so i needed to be semi vague bc i could not remember everything and did not have the Energy to watch that again rn. So i hope i did okay with paying homage to just the fact that this documentary series was like a phase in so many people’s quarantines...such a weird and specific moment in time, y’all.
> 
> Remember the good old days? In a weird way, Bernie’s campaign lives on in this universe a little while longer. I believe D-Day, as I put it in my outline, comes in chapter 7. Anyway, here’s the clip Betty and Jug watched. Wild that this feels like a long time ago...again, i can’t with quarantine mindfuckery. https://www.c-span.org/video/?c4863861/user-clip-bernie-sanders-speech-stimulus-bill
> 
> Hope y’all enjoyed, hope you’re staying healthy and sane! Your comments make me smile really really hard <3
> 
> All the love from my quarantine to yours,
> 
> Maria


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April rent is due, Betty and Jughead unsuccessfully try to convince Archie to organize a tenant strike, and Veronica plans a virtual happy hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for some explanation of my new chapter count :)
> 
> Hope you’re all safe and well and that you enjoy this chapter! Your support for this fic means the world to me at this hard time.
> 
> All the love,
> 
> Maria

17.

**march 28, 2020**

The ambience of Saturday morning rain is exactly what they need. 

Betty’s fears still linger in the air. Although they’d eventually settled into a movie, cuddled up on the couch late into the evening, Jughead had sensed that Betty was still full of anxious thoughts. He’d squeezed her extra tight when they’d finally gone to bed. She was so tense, and awkwardly refused the massage he offered, though she kissed his cheek and gave him an appreciative smile before turning back around into her usual sleeping position.

So when they wake up to the sound of a steady rain tapping against the windows, Jughead breathes a silent sigh of relief. Betty grins and turns around in his arms, wrapping herself more completely around Jughead. 

“That’s the _best_ sound when we have nowhere to be,” she murmurs, reaching up to kiss Jughead’s cheek softly. 

Jughead grins at her, running a hand through her ponytail. He relishes in the shiver that visibly runs down her spine. “This is pretty much perfect,” he agrees. They kiss—one of those kisses that is somehow mutually initiated in the exact same moment. Jughead has never felt this in sync with anyone before. He mentally counts, as has become a daily habit—it’s been seventeen days of living with Betty Cooper. It simultaneously feels like an absurdly long amount of time and like no time at all.

They spend the morning sitting up in bed, each reading a book and drinking an exceptionally strong batch of Betty’s coffee, packing the occasional bowl and taking breaks to smoke and talk. The rain pounds relentlessly against the windows and they just take it as an excuse to play Phoebe Bridgers all day and stay under the covers.

“April showers bring May flowers,” Jughead remarks around a mouthful of smoke, coughing as he adds, “Oh _shit_ , it’s almost April.”

“Ugh,” Betty says. “Rent.”

“Did we just enter reality again?”

Betty laughs before taking the final hit to cash the bowl. She coughs, grinning at Jughead in a way that makes Jughead’s breath catch in his throat. “I think we did.”

“Ugh,” Jughead says, leaning back against the headboard. “...I am pretty hungry.”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Betty says, ashing the bowl on her nightstand and bracketing her hands on either side of her. “I can get up, I can do this.”

It takes another five minutes to haul themselves into the kitchen, where Betty declares that she’s making grilled cheese “because bread, cheese, and butter are some of the only items left in this apartment.” She trembles a little bit as she says it, turning her back to him so quickly he’s surprised her ponytail doesn’t accidentally slap him in the face.

“Hey,” Jughead says, standing up from the table and coming to stand beside her at the counter. She’s looking away from him, stubbornly buttering slices of bread as the skillet heats up on the stove. “It’s okay. We can order Chinese later.”

Betty shakes her head. “I feel like such a...loser.”

“Why? Chinese food is dope and supporting local businesses is...litty.”

Betty finally turns to shoot him an incredulous look—which immediately devolves into a big smile. “‘Litty?’”

Jughead blushes, shrugging. “I don’t know. I was trying to be inspirational.”

“And in doing so, became a high school English teacher desperately trying to fit in with his Gen Z students,” Betty says, a smile still fixed on her face and Jughead gasps, face shocked as he mockingly holds his stomach.

“You _wound_ me, Betty.”

Betty laughs, returning her attention to the stove. “Wanna see if we have any chips left to go with this?” 

“Sure,” Jughead says, immediately crossing the room to find half a bag of Ruffles. “Score!”

He pours the chips into a bowl and sits at the table waiting for Betty to finish. She’s humming along to the music still playing from her living room speaker and he counts it as an improvement. 

A FaceTime call comes in from Archie just as Betty’s taking a first bite of her sandwich, sitting in a chair next to Jughead and touching their legs under the table. “Insatiable,” he whispers flirtatiously, just before Archie calls.

Betty moves back from Jughead a little bit and giggles at the sad face he shoots her. “Answer it,” she says, taking another bite of her sandwich. 

Jughead sighs and props his phone up on Betty’s napkin holder as he swipes across the screen. “Hey, lovers!” Archie chirps. He’s sitting in bed, shirtless. _Typical Archie._

“Hey, Archie,” Betty says through a mouthful of grilled cheese.

“What’s up, friend?” Jughead asks. 

“Well, I can’t help but notice the date…” he says awkwardly.

“Ah, yes,” Betty says. “We were just talking about the unpleasant reality of rent being due.”

“Well,” Archie says. “We both are still employed, thankfully, right?” 

Jughead nods. “I mean, for now...yeah. But haven’t you noticed all the lay-offs?” Betty stiffens beside him and he rubs her shoulder soothingly without missing a beat. 

Archie sighs. “Yeah. Let’s just keep our fingers crossed, man. Because rent is due April 1st.”

“Ugh,” Betty says. “It shouldn’t be. Especially considering Cuomo suspended mortgage payments in the state, but _didn’t_ freeze rents! It’s like, nice, some casual classism.”

“Homeowners are inherently better people _obviously_ , Betty,” Jughead says sarcastically. 

Betty laughs and Archie shakes his head through the screen. “Oh, you two. How did this not happen sooner?”

Betty rests her head on Jughead’s shoulder and he grins, trying to avoid the knowing look Archie is giving him. 

“So...rent. Wanna Venmo me your half today, Jug?” Archie says. 

“Wanna put a shirt on when you call your friends, bud?” Jughead asks, still high from the most recent bowl they’d smoked and in the mood to mess with his oldest friend a little.

Archie rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I’m...not wearing shirts a lot these days.”

“Oh, no, Archie,” Betty says, eyes widening. “Tell me you’re not one of those people who showed up to their first Zoom meeting without a shirt on.”

Archie averts his eyes. “No comment.”

Jughead and Betty burst out laughing. “Okay, okay,” Jughead says when he finally gets a hold of himself. “Rent. Now, Archie, did you hear about this little thing called an eviction moratorium?”

“Jughead,” Archie says in a testy voice, and Jughead grins. His friend knows him well enough to have an inkling of where this is going.

Betty shoots him a questioning look, though there’s a devilish spark in her eye and she says, “Yeah, earlier in March one of the like, chief New York judges put a stop to all evictions for the foreseeable future.” 

“So?” Archie says. 

“So,” Jughead says. “Considering the state of things, with work in uncertain times, some housing activists and democratic socialists are calling for a rent strike. And since there is an eviction moratorium in place, the organizing conditions are especially good. They can’t evict people during this crisis in New York.”

“But we can pay, Jug,” Archie says, pleading.

Betty shrugs. “That’s true. The point is kind of solidarity with those who can’t pay. Especially since they excluded undocumented folks from the CARES Act. So they won’t be getting those stimulus checks everyone else is getting.”

Archie frowns. “What are you two trying to say?”

“This is your moment, Archie, to become the tenant organizer I always knew you could be,” Jughead says and Archie starts shaking his head.

“Absolutely not-”

“Organize our building, Archie! I believe in you,” Jughead says.

“I don’t know how to organize, Jughead!” Archie says to both Jughead and Betty’s aghast faces.

“Did you not hand out flyers with me when I organized the rally to oppose the shutdown of the Twilight Drive-In?” Jughead says, blushing when Betty shoots him a curious look.

Archie sighs. “Yeah, but that’s not the same! I knew everyone in Riverdale.”

“You used to table with me in college,” Betty says, thinking back to the divestment actions she’d guilted Archie and Kevin into attending.

The back-and-forth continues for another ten minutes or so, Betty and Jughead having admittedly too much fun ribbing their best friend. “You two are dangerous now that you’re having sex!” Archie complains. “You’re so in sync.”

Jughead doesn’t even have to look at Betty to know they’re both blushing. Betty sighs, flipping her ponytail over her head as she concedes, “To be real though, Arch, I just looked it up,” she points to her phone. “And you and Jug’s building is owned by a management company that owns so many buildings, it probably wouldn’t be an effective rent strike since you’d have to organize ‘em all.”

Jughead peers down at Betty’s phone screen, considering her argument. “Hmm…”

Archie rolls his eyes. “I think you two are forgetting that this wouldn’t be an effective rent strike because _I_ would be leading it!”

Betty and Jughead burst out laughing and Jughead finally concedes, “Okay, okay, you win this round, Archie. You holding out for a rent strike on May Day? Very nice.”

Archie shakes his head, smiling despite himself. “Just Venmo me and smoke a bowl with me, you fools,” he argues and Jughead agrees. 

When they finally get off the call a few minutes later, Jughead turns to Betty. “How does rent work for you, anyway? Like, do you just pay Cheryl rent?”

Betty nods. “Yeah, technically I do. We haven’t really talked about it since everything shut down.” She sighs, leaning again to rest on Jughead’s shoulder. “Can we go back to bed and deal with that...later?”

Jughead smiles down at her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Absolutely.”

* * *

Betty bites the bullet and FaceTimes Cheryl after dinner. She’s curled up under a blanket on the couch beside Jughead, who’s mindlessly scrolling through Netflix.

“Turn the volume down,” Betty hisses as the video connects. “The clicking sound of you scrolling will annoy Cheryl.”

Jughead shoots her a look that she thinks is supposed to be irritated, but simply looks endearing. Though he _does_ turn down the volume without letting his gaze leave hers. Betty giggles. “Thank you.”

“Ma chérie!” Cheryl squeals from Betty’s phone screen, all smiles in a silky red robe. 

“How are you, Cheryl?” Betty says, comforted by the sight of her cousin’s face.

“Better now that I see your face, love,” Cheryl says. “And is that Jughead?”

Betty aims the phone at Jughead, who grins and waves. “Hey Cheryl,” he says weakly.

“Hello, Forsythe,” Cheryl says and Jughead’s eyes widen.

Betty laughs. “Did you perhaps _Google_ my new boyfriend, Cheryl?”

“It’s a cousin’s _right_ ,” Cheryl insists, flipping her red mane over her shoulder. “Now that you two are official, I had to do a little...background check.”

“And?” Jughead says. “Did I get an A?”

Betty is relieved to hear the humor in his voice and quickly adds, “On the edge of my seat over here, Cheryl.”

“You two are a match made in heaven,” Cheryl says with a huff. “And you check out, Forsythe. But now that I know your far-superior real name, I’ll be referring to you as such going forward.”

Jughead sighs. “I guess I can accept that.”

Betty grins. “ _Really_?” 

“What, you don’t believe me?” Jughead says, looking slightly affronted.

Betty shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just, one of the first times we ever got drunk together after you moved here, you freaked out when Archie mentioned your full name.”

Jughead blushes. “I was also a still-awkward 22-year-old back then,” he reminds her. “ _I_ still prefer Jughead,” he clears his throat. “But I’m willing to make an exception for you, Cheryl.”

“It’s just girlfriend’s cousin privileges. I knew I liked you, Forsythe,” Cheryl says, and Betty giggles. “So, anyway. To what do I owe this call?”

Betty groans. “ _Right_. Actually a not-so-fun reason. It occurred to us today that rent’s due any day now.”

Cheryl nods, considering. “Oh, yeah, it’s almost April. Time flies when you’re inside constantly.”

“I’m not gonna lie, Cheryl, I’m kinda freaking out about all the media layoffs,” Betty says. “I barely have any savings and…”

“Wait, Betty. Hold. Are you worried about not being able to afford rent?”

Betty gulps, looking to Jughead for an encouraging look and finding him already gazing in her direction. He gives her a nod and she breathes deep before saying, “Yeah, I am.”

“Don’t pay it,” Cheryl says quickly.

“What?”

“I’m your landlord, Betty Cooper,” Cheryl says. “And I will cover it during this pandemic. Because you’re right. We don’t know how long this will last or if your job will remain secure. You don’t have the Blossom family inheritance that I do to fall back on. The _least_ I can do is help you out during a global crisis by taking some stress off you.”

“Wow, Cheryl,” Jughead says, reaching for Betty’s shoulder and rubbing it gently. “That’s really kind of you.” He turns to Betty. “The one family member you like is _really_ cool.”

Betty and Cheryl both burst out laughing. “Did Betty give you the whole lowdown on our crazy family, then, Forsythe?” Cheryl asks curiously.

Betty shakes her head. “I told him only some of it, Cheryl,” Betty says. “I find it’s usually best to dole it out in small portions.”

“You’re telling me. I lost a girlfriend by bringing her home for Thanksgiving too soon into the relationship,” Cheryl says, her eyes expressive as she looks nostalgically into the distance. “She was _not_ amused by Nana’s story of the first Blossom Thanksgiving.”

Betty’s eyes widen and she shakes her head wildly, using her hands to make the “cut it out” motion across her throat. She can feel Jughead’s intrigued eyes on her. “As I said, best taken in _bite-size_ portions,” Betty says, her voice like ice.

“A story for another day,” Cheryl agrees quickly before launching into a tirade about her neighbor’s yappy dog.

“Later,” Betty promises to Jughead when they hang up, as he gives her his best version of the puppy-dog face. “ _Later,_ ” she says again, almost hissing. She follows it up with an ardent kiss for good measure.

“Later,” Jughead agrees, tightening his grip around Betty and resuming his scrolling through Netflix.

18\. 

**march 29, 2020**

It finally happens when they’re making breakfast on Sunday morning.

“Pass me the eggs, Jug?” Betty says from the stove, sweeping a stray piece of hair out of her eye. It’s a gloomy day, and it was incredibly hard to get out of bed. Now, Betty’s insatiably hungry and in one of her unmistakable single-minded cooking moods.

Jughead, who had disappeared into the fridge in search of milk for the coffee brewing, looks up guiltily. “Sorry, Sweet Pea sent me a funny meme and I got distracted by Instagram,” he admits.

Betty huffs a little but straightens her face into a smile. “It’s fine.” She stands waiting, but Jughead’s eyes dart back down to his phone. 

“Jug!” Betty says, a little louder. 

He looks up, startled. “The _eggs_ ,” she says. 

Jughead nods, lunging into the fridge for the carton—and in his haste, knocking it to the ground. Betty can hear the painful crack right as it hits the floor. Jughead looks down at his feet with a panicked look, opening the carton and wincing when the only two eggs left are revealed to be completely smashed.

“Fuck!” Betty says, coming out louder than expected. She turns around, feeling her face heating. “It’s fine,” she says, though it comes out like venom. “Why would I expect that you’d be capable of paying attention long enough to pass me some goddamn _eggs_?” She turns off the stove, standing there breathing heavily and unsure what to do.

“Sorry I looked at my phone for _five_ seconds,” Jughead snaps back, and Betty almost jumps at the tone in his voice. It’s one she’s never heard before.

She turns back around, her face somehow hotter than it had been a minute earlier, and meets his eyes. He looks as ashamed as she feels. “I’m sorry,” she blurts out at almost the same time Jughead does. 

Betty quickly jumps into action, grabbing paper towels and crouching down to meet Jughead on the floor to clean up the eggy mess. “It’s just...everything.”

“Betty,” Jughead says, his voice again the gentle tone she’s falling in love with. “It’s okay.” He pauses for a second, then offers his hand for a high-five. 

“What’s that for?” Betty asks, dumbfounded as she leaves him hanging.

“Because I’m _honestly_ surprised that us getting into a fight—even a little one—didn’t happen sooner, and I think we deserve a high-five for that.”

Betty’s face breaks out into a grin as she processes what Jughead said. “Oh, yeah. Day 18. That’s not bad,” she says. (They’d started counting the days on the whiteboard still propped up near the couch with their board game tournament scores.)

“All it took was a _stormy_ weekend, I guess,” Jughead says jokingly and Betty reaches forward to give him a sound kiss on the lips. Somehow, their first fight had come and then gone just as quickly. She finishes gathering up the egg and the carton and they both stand up to throw away the trash and wash their hands.

Betty sighs. “Wanna just order bagels from the place a couple blocks over?”

“God, yes.” Jughead opens his phone and quickly puts in the bagel order they’ve already filled a few times since he’d started staying at Betty’s.

Betty watches him, entranced by how sexy he looks in his crewneck sweater. The blue brings out his eyes and he looks so cozy. All she wants to do is rub her face in his chest, breathe in the scent of him.

“Ordered,” Jughead confirms, looking up to meet Betty’s eyes. He immediately grins when he notices the way Betty’s looking at him. He drops his phone to the counter and comes to meet Betty where she’s standing next to the kitchen table. “You know, you’re kinda sexy when you’re mad at me,” he comments and Betty can feel her face flush.

“That was just the warm-up,” Betty says back, biting her lip at the way Jughead’s devouring her with his eyes. She’s wearing just a thin tank top and boxer shorts and still, it feels like too much.

“Good,” Jughead says, reaching forward to brush a lock of hair behind her ear.

Betty reaches forward and loops her arms around Jughead’s waist. “I’m _so_ wet right now,” she whispers and he groans. Without another word, he picks Betty up in a singular motion that makes Betty’s stomach swoop with giddy anticipation. Soon, he’s dropping her on the couch and covering her face with kisses, trailing them down her neck and collarbone as she moans. 

“You are _so_ sexy,” Jughead murmurs, pulling on her tank top and grinning when Betty immediately lifts her arms to help him remove it. 

He takes one nipple in his mouth immediately, swirling his tongue around while his fingers tweak and rub at the other. Betty lets out a loud moan, thinking not for the first time since Jughead moved in how happy she is to live alone. 

He switches, his tongue swirling around her other nipple in a characteristic act of fairness. Betty leans her head back. “ _Yes_ ,” she whines, raking her hands through Jughead’s hair. 

She ruts against him. “Jug,” she whispers, moaning when he stops sucking on her tits, only to continue trailing kisses down her stomach. 

“I bet you’re _so_ wet for me right now,” he says and Betty thinks his voice is so sexy she easily could get off in mere minutes just from touching herself and listening to him talk.

“Shut up and put that mouth to work, Jug,” Betty groans, still gripping Jughead’s hair as he pauses from where he’s pressing gentle kisses to the strip of skin just above her underwear. For a split second, Betty’s terrified she’s let out too much of herself—she doesn't think she’s ever been so forward with a sexual partner before. But the moment passes as quickly as it came, as Jughead lifts his eyes to meet hers. She’s delighted at how turned-on he looks. 

“Your wish is my command,” he says slowly and she shivers as he pulls her underwear down in a single swooping motion. Sometimes she can’t believe how smooth Jughead is around her; it’s like they bring it out in each other.

Jughead fingers her for a couple minutes, teasing around her clit and making her whine before finally bringing his mouth to her pussy. She cries out, maintaining a steady grip on his hair as she bucks and rides his face. 

“How are you so good at this?” she cries out, gripping the cushions as Jughead licks right _there_. 

“Fuck, don’t stop,” her body lifting off the couch as she cries out. (Again, _so_ glad to live alone.)

She rides his face through the orgasm, finally stilling and bringing her hands to his hair again. “Jug,” she says. “That was _amazing_ , holy shit.”

Jughead grins, giving her a deep kiss, letting Betty taste herself as their tongues tangle. “Let me get the condoms,” Jughead whispers when he pulls back, shoving off his underwear as he goes.

Betty grins, laying back on the couch and feeling flushed and overwhelmed by him. They’d just been having their first fight twenty minutes ago and now she was coming down from an incredible orgasm.

When he returns with the condom already out of the wrapper, she takes control. “I want to ride you,” she murmurs and he nods enthusiastically. 

He feels _perfect._ Betty loves the feel of him underneath her, the way he thrusts and grabs at her hips to meet her. She loves to anchor a hand on his smooth chest, loves the way he tweaks her nipples. The way he rubs her clit when he’s close. She comes just before he’s about over the edge.

“Maybe we should fight more often,” Jughead jokes as he’s disposing of the condom and Betty shoves him playfully on the way to the bathroom.

* * *

The bagels arrive shortly after they finish, as Betty’s changing and Jughead’s packing them a bowl. Jughead sets their bagels out on the coffee table, grinning as he waits for her to come back. She kisses him soundly on the cheek: “You didn’t have to wait.” But he gives her a look that he hopes says, _you know me better by now. I will always wait for you._

They eat on the couch, content watching another episode of _Schitt’s Creek_. 

And yet—Betty simply _can’t_ stop touching him.

Mere minutes after they finish their bagels, Betty’s having her way with him again, crying out as she rides him on the couch. 

When they wake up from a post-sex nap—this time in bed—two hours have passed.

Betty stretches her arms out and he watches her, greedily taking in her naked form and messy hair. “Jug?” she asks and he almost startles, he’d been so swept up in his own thoughts about her.

“Yeah?” 

“Do you want to...take a bath together?”

Jughead shrugs. “Like we did last weekend? Sure.”

“Well…” Betty bites her lip. “Not exactly like last weekend. I was thinking we could take...a real bath together. Like, without bathing suits.”

“Oh,” Jughead says, a little surprised but—his eyes trail her naked chest—he’s not _opposed_. 

“This is new for me,” he admits, standing at the edge of the tub. 

“Really?” she says, looking up at him curiously. She’s crouched next to the faucet, beautiful and irresistibly naked as she leans forward to test the water temperature with her hand. “It’s _almost_ there,” she murmurs.

“You think I would have taken a bath with a girl before?” Jughead counters, surprised.

Betty shrugs. “Maybe? You just strike me as a romantic.”

Jughead grins, moving closer to Betty and rubbing her shoulders as she tests the water. For once, she gives in, letting him massage some of the knots that live seemingly permanently in her muscles. 

“Ow,” Betty whines and he drops a kiss to the back of her neck.

“Shh,” he says. “Relax. You tense your shoulders too much.”

“I know,” Betty says mournfully and Jughead laughs, continuing to knead her shoulders. “Ouch, ow, yep ugh, you found it, you found it, you definitely found it!” 

Jughead can’t help but continue to laugh at Betty’s reactions as he works out a couple more knots before giving up. “Squirmy,” he says teasingly as he releases her shoulders. “Is the water warm?” he whispers in her ear, pressing another kiss to her collarbone.

“It’s _perfect_ ,” she says, turning around and giving him a kiss. “Wanna get in first?” 

Jughead nods. “Okay.”

It’s more comfortable than he thought it’d be. After all, in just a couple weeks Betty had easily surpassed anyone else he’d ever been with in every conceivable category. He’d never been this familiar with another person’s body. 

He’d never known it could feel so right to have another person’s wet, sudsy skin brushed up against his own, but it _does_.

And then she turns around and splashes him.

“Do you always have serious conversations in the bath?” Jughead asks, incredulous, when they settle down again, a wet and gorgeously naked Betty Cooper nestled in his arms waiting for him to answer her question. 

Betty shrugs, looking up at him guiltily. “I’ve never really bathed with any of my partners before either,” she admits. “I just have always wanted to...with you.”

“With me?”

“Yeah.” Betty starts tracing circles on his arm and he grins at the light touch.

“Okay, fine, let me think,” Jughead says. (She’d asked him to tell her about his novel, a topic that they’d crept around but not quite delved into since this relationship started. _How to even begin_?)

“Is it about me?” Betty jokes, shooting him a goofy grin, and he blushes. Her face turns serious and she opens her mouth to speak.

“Only partially!” Jughead blurts out and she bites her lip, smiling and withholding whatever she was about to say.

“Go on,” she says instead.

“I’ve had the general idea since like, late undergrad. It’s a kinda _Secret History_ -style dark mystery but set in the town where Archie and I grew up in Massachusetts,” he explains, weirdly less nervous naked in a bath telling this to Betty than he’s been when telling people in literary circles this information while wearing a suit.

“Ooh, so dark academia?” Betty says. 

She sounds excited and it motivates him to continue. “Yeah, kinda,” he says. “It mostly deals with art history...I guess? I’m kind of creating this weird lore that exists in the town in an art colony that used to be there.”

“Wow,” Betty says, snorting a little, though she looks impressed. “You really are from western Mass.”

“My town is the _least_ artsy in the area,” Jughead says, laughing. He rubs Betty’s wet back as he talks and she grins up at him. “But the point still stands, yes.”

“I _really_ like that, Jug,” she says. “I will eagerly read anything having to do with it whenever you want me to. Wait. How is it about me?”

Jughead blushes. “There’s a certain...blonde, ponytailed love interest who knows how to pick locks.”

Betty laughs, a surprised look on her face. “You remembered I can do that?”

“A game of Never Have I Ever, shortly after I moved here,” he pauses for a second then adds, “Hottest thing I’d ever heard.”

Betty turns around in his arms. “Really?” 

He leans down and they kiss, getting lost in each other for a minute. When they come up for air, Jughead grins. “I get to ask you a question now.”

“I guess that’s only fair.”

It’s not hard to decide. He’s been wondering for awhile.

“What are you trying to _do,_ Betty?”

Betty sounds genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, you know I’m writing this novel and who knows if it’ll ever be anything but, hey, it’s better than my day job. Do you have a thing like that?”

Betty purses her lips, and Jughead can’t tell if she’s considering her answer or scared to tell him the truth. He lifts his hand—with a little splash—to rest it on Betty’s shoulder. 

“I really want to be an investigative journalist,” Betty finally says, looking toward the cracked window. “It’s why I majored in journalism. I just want to investigate something important, to have some room to choose what I write about and uncover things that matter.”

Jughead watches her talk, her eyes lighting up in a way he sees far too rarely. Only when she’s truly passionate about something. He’d noticed, over the past few weeks, that he didn’t see that light in her eyes while they were working in the kitchen together. Maybe when she video-chats with Toni and Veronica but otherwise? She’s focused and hard-working, sure. But he knows Betty Cooper and there’s no passion there.

“But you’re stuck in a job that bores you,” he says when he realizes Betty has stopped talking, that she’s waiting for his reaction.

She grins. “Oh, so I guess you’ve noticed?”

“We’ve been doing this co-working-space thing for a couple weeks now, you know,” he says, squeezing her arm teasingly.

“I know,” Betty says. “I just didn’t know it was that _obvious_.” Her face quickly turns to horror. “I hope it’s not obvious at work.”

Jughead shakes his head. “Your face completely changes every time you get on a Zoom call,” he says. “It’s just...here, in your home, I can see the real you. And the real you is bored.”

Betty laughs, reaching up and kissing his cheek. “The real me wants a job that makes me feel...excited to get up and go to work every day,” she sighs. “And sometimes that makes me feel guilty, because technically I have a decent gig. Our union contract is pretty solid, so I’m making industry standard wages and have good benefits, ya know?”

“But it’s just not fulfilling?” Jughead guesses. She nods, looking almost nervous. “That’s _okay_ , Betty,” Jughead says.

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” she admits. She slides out of his lap and turns to face him, on her knees. He takes her hands and kisses each one, overwhelmed with the idea that he could be the person she trusts most.

“I’m…” her eyes drop to their clasped hands then back up to his face. “I’m in love with you, Jug,” Betty says and Jughead is quite sure that he could die happy in this moment.

“I love you too,” he blurts out before reaching down and grabbing her face in his hands, both of them laughing at the splash. 

“The water’s gonna go cold soon, Jug,” Betty says, though she kisses him again immediately after, moaning when his hand finds one of her breasts. 

“We can go in a bit, I promise,” Jughead says, then leans forward to whisper her in her ear. “Just need to make you come one, _maybe_ two times. Then we can finish up in the bed.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Betty says, her head lolling back as his hand drifts downward. “‘I love you’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Later, after they’ve _thoroughly_ fucked on Betty’s bed, cleaned up, and returned to bed, Betty turns around in his arms to gaze at him lovingly. “You know,” she says, reaching forward to touch his chin affectionately. “I’ve never been in love with someone before.”

Jughead grins, thinking again about that moment in the bath. About picking locks and being secretly in love with each other for way too long to let another moment pass without saying it. _God_ , he’s glad she said it. “Me either,” he says. “Though I think I’ve been in love with you for...a long time.”

Betty reaches up to kiss him. “You’re the only good thing about right now. Now, what do you want to watch?”

19.

**march 30, 2020**

“We’re really down to our last rations here,” Betty says mournfully, throwing open the kitchen cabinets at 5:02 PM.

“Aw, it’s okay, Betty,” Jughead says, joining her by the counter and resting his arms on her shoulders. She relaxes back into him and he leans down to press a kiss to the back of her neck. “Let’s just have chili again,” Jughead says softly. “There’s still some left in the fridge, right?”

Betty sighs, turning around in his arms and frowning. “There’s plenty. That’s the problem! It’s like the only actual food we have left!”

Jughead laughs, kissing Betty’s cheek and releasing her as he goes to retrieve the Tupperware from the fridge. “I’ll do the microwaving honors,” he offers and Betty nods sadly, leaving the room to grab the bong as Jughead pulls bowls out of the cabinets.

Watching the microwave plate spin, Jughead sighs. He gets why Betty’s so frustrated: in a normal time, Betty is actually _good_ at cooking on a budget. It’s always amazed him. Yet as the days of quarantine have gone by, they’ve pushed her pantry to its limit. They’d had the last of the instant ramen for lunch and the chili Jughead is heating up had also served as their dinner the night before. 

“Thank you for heating it up,” Betty says when she returns to the kitchen table with a packed bowl and a lighter, which she hands to Jughead. “Maybe we can order out tomorrow night though?”

Jughead grins, taking a bong rip just as the microwave beeps. “Deal,” he says through a cloud of smoke.

Jughead sighs when he sees Jellybean is calling; he and Betty had _just_ settled into bed for the night, the docu-series they’d been watching queued up on his laptop. But Betty sees it’s Jellybean too and immediately says, “Go.”

“What’s up?” Jughead says, one foot out of the bed as he kisses Betty’s cheek to make for the kitchen. Jellybean—like most humans—is having a _rough_ time lately, and he can never tell what kind of call it will be, whether tears are only mere seconds away.

“You don’t have to make it a whole thing. I just started making masks using a pattern on the internet,” Jellybean says. “And I wanted to send some to you and Betty. But I realized...I don’t have her address.”

“Oh,” Jughead says, pausing near the couch to turn and look at Betty, scrolling through her phone under the covers in bed. “That’s really nice, thanks. I’ll text it to you as soon as we hang up.”

“Great,” Jellybean says. There’s a pause.

“Jelly?”

“Okay, _fine_. I heard from Mom…”

Jughead sighs and continues the journey to the kitchen, pulling up a seat at the table and responding, “What’s wrong this time?”

* * *

Betty sits on the bed, finger hovering over her contacts trying to decide who to pick. Whatever itch Jellybean felt that pulled her to call her brother, she now feels too—to tell someone, _anyone_ about what just happened between her and Jughead.

She ends up calling Archie.

“Betty!” She bursts out laughing; Archie has his phone propped up somewhere in his kitchen, wearing a white apron and looking entirely frazzled. “Is this a bad time?” she asks and he shakes his head. 

“Of course not! I’m so happy to hear from you!” He stirs something in a white bowl. 

“Whatcha making there, Arch?”

“ _Nope._ ” Archie says and Betty grins, backing up against the headboard. “I’ve had enough of your micromanaging of my cooking over our years as roommates, and I will respectfully handle this on my own!”

“ _Fine_ ,” Betty concedes, laughing. “Then let’s talk about why I really called.”

Archie laughs. “Oh, yeah, _you_ called _me_. Why’d you call?”

“I just...needed to talk to someone who knows Jughead,” she says.

Archie raises his eyebrow and pauses his stirring. “Ooh,” he says. “Juicy.”

Betty rolls her eyes. “You have the weirdest vocabulary of any of my friends.”

“I wear that title proudly,” Archie says, continuing his stirring.

“Jughead and I said…” she peers over toward the kitchen, where Jughead is sitting with his back to her, clearly still on the phone with Jellybean. “We said ‘I love you’ to each other yesterday.”

“Holy shit! Wow! That’s so huge!” Archie says, almost knocking his bowl off the counter when he lifts his arms in victory.

Betty giggles. “Nice save, Arch.”

Archie laughs, pushing the bowl to the center of the counter and picking up his phone. Betty watches him move to his couch. 

“Is that why you’re calling?” Archie asks when he’s settled in. “To tell me that you and Jughead are in loveeeee?”

Betty laughs. “Um. I guess not.” She pauses for a second, unsure how to phrase what she’s about to say. “Do you think we’re like...right for each other? Like, long-term? I don’t know. I mean, I guess I feel a little less scared about it now that we’ve said ‘I love you’ but…”

“Betty,” Archie interrupts. “What are you really freaked about? You’re rambling and not making a ton of sense. Because I mean, of _course_ I think you and Jughead are perfect for each other. It’s honestly surprising to me that you two didn't figure this out sooner. But it’s all about timing, right?”

“And our timing is as strange and unpredictable as our lives have ever been,” Betty muses and Archie chuckles.

“Yeah, that seems pretty...what do they say, ‘on brand’ for you two?”

Betty bursts out laughing. “You saying hip catch phrases will never not make me laugh.”

“I’ll always be here to amuse you and Jughead,” Archie says and the certainty in his tone makes Betty tremble a little. Like Archie already sees their future selves, and in that future Betty and Jughead are definitely coupled up.

“I’m scared that Jellybean won’t like me,” Betty blurts out.

Archie raises his eyebrow again. “Ah,” he says. “Did Jughead open up about his family a bit more?”

Betty nods. “Yep,” she says. “And I know how truly important Jellybean is to him. She’s like, the only one I have to impress in this pseudo-meet-the-parents situation. What if she doesn’t like me?”

Archie shakes his head. “Impossible.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you and I know Jellybean. I can see you two getting along really easily, and not just because you both love Jug.”

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about this, Betty, I promise,” Archie says and his voice sounds genuine and gentle. It reminds her of one of the times she’d been stood up in college. Archie and Kevin had come to rescue her, and Archie said a similar phrase when they tried to convince her she was a catch and the guy who stood her up was the loser.

“Thanks, Archie,” Betty says. “You’re a really good friend. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

“Good,” Archie says. “Because not to be rude, but I have some food to finish…”

“Oh, yes! Go, go. Thanks, Archie! We’ll talk soon.”

“Send my love to Jughead!” Archie says before hanging up.

Betty smiles, letting out a deep breath she didn’t realize she was holding and turning for her bong. “Time for a bowl,” she murmurs to herself.

Jughead returns to bed another ten minutes later, greeting her with a kiss on the forehead as he plugs in his phone and removes his shorts. She looks up from her book, amused. “And how’s Jellybean?”

Jughead sighs, getting into bed beside her. “Alright, I guess,” he says. “Sorry it took so long.”

“Don’t apologize,” Betty says, closing her book. “Is everything okay?” She pauses, “You don’t have to tell me, of course.”

“No, I want to,” Jughead says insistently, grabbing her hand. She grins, feeling pleased. “Apparently my mom called Jellybean to check in and she basically just spent the whole time complaining about how she doesn't believe in coronavirus.”

Betty looks at him incredulously. “ _What_?”

Jughead sighs, leaning back against the headboard and rubbing his temples. “It’s just the latest in a long line of absurd phases my mom has gone through. She was bound to land on conspiracy theories at some point, right?” He pauses for a second, thinking. “I wonder if she’s an anti-vaxxer now.”

“Oh, _God_ ,” Betty says. “I hope not.”

“Jellybean was really upset about it,” Jughead explains. “She kind of...still has this _hope_ for my mom that I lost for both our parents a long time ago.” He shrugs. “I sympathize and listen and give advice, but it’s hard to watch sometimes.”

“I get it,” Betty says, squeezing his hand. 

“Oh, shit!” he says. “I just remembered- can you pass me my phone?”

Betty quickly unplugs his phone and hands it to him.

“Another reason Jellybean was calling is for your address. She’s making a bunch of face masks and wants to send us some.” His fingers work on his phone as he types out the text. Betty’s heart is bursting.

When he returns the phone to Betty to put back on the charger, Betty grabs his hand again. “Jug…” she says. “I really want Jellybean to like me. I’m like...weirdly and for no rational reason whatsoever, worried she’ll hate me or something.”

Jughead scoffs, bringing his arm around Betty. She happily scooches forward and buries her head in his chest. It’s still raining and the sound is comforting as they lay there, safe and tucked in together under the sheets. 

Jughead grins and says, “It’ll happen. You two are gonna love each other, I just know it.” 

20.

**march 31, 2020**

Betty sighs, pushing back her chair from the table and just sitting there for a minute, feeling heavy and limp thinking about just the simple task of moving. Jughead looks up at her over his laptop, head cocked to the side as if to ask, _everything okay_?

She nods, then clears her throat and says, “Want more coffee?”

He nods. “Thanks, Betts,” he says softly and she smiles appreciatively.

They’ve both been quiet today. 

Betty’s feeling sad and quieter than usual. Has been since she woke up. But it certainly didn’t help when she opened her inbox to see that the citywide death toll was inching toward the 1,000 mark. And it also didn’t help when just an hour later, Jughead’s staff was informed that three people in his office had tested positive for COVID-19. 

Nevertheless, as she wordlessly prepares his coffee—having long memorized how he takes it—and drops it off next to his laptop with a kiss to his forehead, she feels calmer than she has all day. He grins at her briefly before returning to his work. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

Betty returns to her work, grateful that Jughead knows her well enough not to push her to talk when she needs the silence.

* * *

After work, Jughead wordlessly retrieves Betty’s bong from her nightstand and returns to the kitchen, passing it across the table to Betty.

“You know me too well,” she says after blowing out a generous first hit and passing it back.

“How are you doing?” Jughead asks, leaning back again in his chair and taking his time with his hit.

Betty sighs, leaning her elbows on the table. “I don’t know,” she admits, eyes darting away from his face. “Just sad today.”

Jughead reaches across the table to touch her arm and she nudges herself closer to his touch. “You’re cute today,” he says and she looks up at him with a begrudging smile. 

“You’re trying to cheer me up?” she asks.

Jughead shrugs. “Not necessarily. Just stating a fact.”

She pushes herself back up, reaching for the bong again and taking a contemplative hit. “I’m still freaking out about the groceries,” she admits when she rests the bong back down on the table. “Just...I can’t stop thinking about how we need food and so then I try to picture myself grocery shopping and I get so scared...and then I start like, internally shaming myself for being scared. It’s like a vicious cycle.”

Jughead rubs her arm, shooting her a concerned look. “Well, no wonder you’re sad,” he says when she finishes and it makes her laugh, which he definitely counts as a win.

“More than 1,000 people have died, Jug,” Betty says. “1,096 to be exact.” 

Jughead’s a little taken aback. “Betty…”

“I know!” Her eyes widen and she looks like the face-palm emoji. “I wish I didn’t know this! But the number is like, _seared_ into my brain! I open my email and there it is, _bam_ , the coronavirus death toll email, and obviously, I open it! And there it goes. Into the brain.” 

She pauses to take a breath and Jughead grins at her. He gets up from his seat and comes around to hug Betty from behind, just enveloping her in his warmth and hoping it helps.

“You know that New York City’s now surpassed the epicenter in China as the _global_ epicenter?” Betty says and Jughead can feel her muscles tensing beneath him.

“Shh,” he says, moving his hands to knead at her neck tenderly. “Just breathe.”

“Okay,” Betty says, and he breathes in and out along with her until she calms down a bit.

“Want another bong rip?” Jughead asks with a knowing smile and she nods guiltily, reaching for the lighter as Jughead returns to his chair. “So,” Jughead says, tapping the table with his fingers. “Can I suggest something?”

Betty sighs. “What?” she says hesitantly.

“Maybe you should stop checking those coronavirus daily update emails _every_ day? It doesn’t seem like…”

“It’s doing anything but making me even more anxious and depressed?” Betty finishes.

Jughead nods guiltily. “Sorry if I overstepped.”

“No, you didn’t,” Betty says, reaching to grab his hand. “Thanks for that. It’s not anything I wasn’t already thinking. You’re right. I need to make a concerted effort to not look so often.”

Jughead grins, caressing her hand. “I can help. If you want.”

Betty smiles, leaning in closer and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I would love that.” 

Jughead leans forward so their foreheads are touching, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, she says, voice a little wobbly, “I’m still scared.”

Jughead smiles. “That’s okay, Betty.”

“I just…” she sighs, tangling their fingers together. “I think I need to talk this out in therapy tomorrow before I can try to go outside.”

“That is totally fine, Betty,” Jughead says and she looks relieved. He leans forward to kiss her forehead and she closes her eyes, smiling serenely. 

“Thanks, Jug,” she says.

After some contemplative silence, Jughead speaks again. “Would it make you feel any better if I just went and got us some groceries by myself?”

Betty seems to consider, but lands on a decided frown. “You said you _hate_ grocery shopping in New York even on a good day. I don’t want to subject you to that during a pandemic all alone!”

Jughead shrugs. “I would do it for you.”

Betty smiles. “I’m grateful for that. But...I mean, hopefully my therapist can suggest some strategies. She’s usually really good about that. I’d like to work through it, if I can. Maybe we can try to go...Thursday or Friday.”

Jughead nods. “Okay.” He thinks for a minute. “Okay, how about this: I’ll go down to the bodega and get us a couple things to hold us over—like that milk we desperately need.”

Betty leans back in her chair, as if weight has left her shoulders. “Oh, Jug, could you? That would be perfect.”

“Of course, Betty.” He stands up and kisses her, cupping her face and making sure it conveys how much he’s willing to sacrifice if it means making her just a little bit less anxious. “Now, where are those masks?”

Jughead tries to focus his mind on Betty’s face in the bodega, which is thankfully only populated with one other person in a mask checking out at the register when he enters. He hastens through the cramped shelves, grabbing milk and sugar for their coffee and a couple more ramen packets, a can of beans and another bag of rice. He spots the chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream he knows Betty loves in the freezer and grabs it on a whim. 

The check-out exchange with the guy at Betty’s bodega is more stilted and polite than usual. He’s usually animated and has teased Jughead plenty of times when he’s been here before. It’s odd, how the pandemic has just made everything feel...suspicious and unnatural. _Like the fact that society has been upended is just floating all around us, unspoken and yet so unmistakably present._

The best sound in the world is the lock clicking as he opens the door with Betty’s keys, hanging from the gag-gift “drama queen” keychain Veronica had apparently given her. 

“I bought you ice cream!” Jughead calls as he makes a beeline for the kitchen sink to wash his hands. Only then does he take off his mask, happy to find Betty rifling through his purchases with a grin on her face. 

“You got me _the_ ice cream?” she asks, a delighted smile on her face. 

“Yes, I did, you stoney girl,” he says, kissing her soundly. 

She giggles and moves to put the groceries away, an unspoken trade. 

The night takes a turn for the better then. Betty seems calmer with somewhat of a game plan in place, as she had a couple weeks earlier with their first grocery trip. He needs to squirrel that information away for next time.

They order take-out for dinner, sick of the chili after two nights in a row of it, and end up on the couch waiting for it to come with a carefully-rolled joint and a documentary that has Betty throwing the blanket over their legs and snuggling in close. 

They’d (mostly) gotten through another day in quarantine.

21.

**april 1, 2020**

“The real April Fools is that rent is due!” Jughead jokes as Betty enters the kitchen. She’d been slower to wake today, making him volunteer to take a shower first.

Betty sighs, heading for the coffee he’d brewed. “Please tell me you’re not an April Fools person.”

“Oh, absolutely not, it’s the worst holiday,” Jughead says, grinning at her over his laptop.

Betty smiles at him, her sad face brightening up a little bit, as she grabs milk from the fridge. “I knew I liked you.”

* * *

They order pizza for dinner at Jughead’s insistence. “My treat,” he’d said firmly, with a kiss to Betty’s lips. She couldn’t complain.

When they finish eating, Jughead stands up immediately to clear the table. “Just get ready for therapy,” he says before she can protest properly. She grins, that warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through her body. When he’s finished, he kisses her on the forehead before making for the bed, shoving his oversized headphones on and opening his laptop.

Betty breathes deeply before opening her own laptop, clicking on the Zoom link from her therapist and tapping her fingers against the table as she sits in the virtual waiting room. 

The warm smile of her longtime therapist—a kind 40-year-old woman named Hilda—brings some brightness to Betty’s face.

“What’s bothering you?” Hilda asks before even saying hi. It’s a nice thing about having a therapist so long; Hilda can read her _absurdly_ well, even over a Zoom call.

“I...I’m scared to go outside,” Betty says, ready to just put it out there.

“Okay,” Hilda says. “Walk me through why you’re feeling that way.”

Betty breathes in and out deep, and launches into the same explanation she’d given Jughead. How, despite the 14 days having passed since she’d been exposed to Kevin, she feels terrified of infection. How the death toll sticks in her mind, jabbing her with fear. 

One of the first things Hilda suggests is scaling back on her intake of those death toll numbers. Betty smiles to herself, thinking of how that had been Jughead’s immediate suggestion too. 

“Now, since you read the news so regularly, I’m sure you know Mayor DeBlasio announced this week that all city residents are advised to wear face coverings while outside?” Hilda asks, waiting for Betty to nod sheepishly before continuing. 

“Do you have masks?” Hilda asks next and Betty nods again.

“We have some that my friend dropped off a few weeks ago. Plus, Jughead’s sister is actually sending us face masks she made herself.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Hilda says. “How are things with you and Jughead?”

“Really...really good. He actually said...well, I said it first...we told each other ‘I love you.’”

“Wow, that’s a big step! How are you feeling about it?”

“Amazing. Like, it’s the one good thing in my life I have to hold onto in this...storm.”

Hilda frowns. “Do you really feel that Jughead is the only good thing you have? Because you know how we’ve talked about not relying on other people for our happiness. They can contribute to it, but…”

“I shouldn’t rely on it, I know,” Betty says, sighing. “Some days, honestly, it does feel that way. Stuck inside, yet afraid to go out. But...we have fun together. We do things I like doing by myself, but together. So I guess he’s not the only thing. But he makes other good things even better.”

Hilda smiles. “Good. Keep that in check. Make sure you two are not each other’s only outlet right now. But it seems you’re already doing that.”

Betty nods. “But we really need to go out for groceries. Jughead offered to go alone for me, but I really want to push through it.”

“I’m proud of you for wanting to overcome this fear!” Hilda says. “Let’s make a plan.”

22.

**april 2, 2020**

“Alright,” Betty says nervously, finally closing her laptop for the day ten minutes after 5:00. 

“We can do this,” Jughead says, shooting her a soft smile. Across the table, he’s halfway through smoking a bowl, and he’d already fished out a couple of Betty’s reusable tote bags. Jughead pushes the bong and a lighter across the table at Betty, watching her insistently until she takes a couple hits.

“I don’t think I can do our divide-and-conquer strategy this time, Jug,” Betty says nervously, looking down at the handwritten grocery list they’d composed on their lunch hour. 

Jughead shrugs, reaching across the table to place his hand over Betty’s. “That’s okay. We’ll get stuff together! It’ll be easier next time. I promise.”

She breathes out again, nodding and trying to muster a smile but she knows her face must still appear worried because Jughead shoots her a sympathetic look. “Let’s get this over with?” he asks and she nods. “That’s more like it.”

They both shrug on denim jackets, happy to see it’s in the late 50s, creeping toward warmer weather. Jughead helps Betty secure her mask when he sees her hand shaking.

“We got this,” he says, voice muffled through his mask. It’s times like these when Betty’s grateful she fell in love with someone with such expressive eyes. “In and out,” he says, swinging the reusable bags over his shoulder.

“In and out,” she agrees, locking the door behind them. She grabs his hand as soon as they exit her building.

Betty’s quite sure she’s never gripped Jughead’s hand this hard before—or anyone’s hand, for that matter. He takes it all in stride though, matching Betty’s brisk pace. Everything feels...surreal, blurred around the edges. 

It’s odd, seeing her neighborhood through this new view. Betty is unsure how she likes feeling her own breath against her face continually. And she _knows_ she hates the suspicious looks on everyone’s faces—on hers, too, she’s sure, when they pass people on the street. Everyone shoots each other silent once-overs, a nod of approval if masks are fastened; meanwhile, Betty squeezes Jughead’s hand extra tight and averts her eyes when she sees one woman walking near them sans face mask.

“It’s okay, Betty,” he says, dragging on Betty’s hand to stop them about six feet from the grocery store. “You ready?” he asks and she nods, digging the grocery list out of her pocket. 

She doesn’t let her hand leave Jughead’s until they come upon a display with much-needed pasta and olive oil. They each reach for a different item and Betty smiles at him, takes a deep breath. _I can do this._

Jughead reaches for the list and scans it quickly. “Follow me,” he says, pulling Betty by the hand down the aisle. 

He mesmerizes her. Every day, she swears. Somehow, they’re out of the store with (almost) everything they need in ten minutes flat. The store didn’t have a few items, but they’re still able to walk away with six bags of groceries. 

After days and days of chili, ramen, and take-out, Betty feels a huge weight lift off her chest as they head back toward her apartment. Cooking has always relaxed her, and she’s excited to again have ingredients to play with.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jughead says when they round the corner, Betty’s building in view.

“Thanks for helping me get through that,” Betty says. “I think you’re right; next time will be easier.”

“What’s for dinner?” Jughead asks next and Betty bursts out laughing, shifting the bags on her arms as she rummages around in her purse for her keys. 

“Whatever you want, love. Any requests?”

“You’re gonna regret opening the floodgates,” Jughead promises as they begin climbing the stairs back to their little quarantine cave.

* * *

“How long do we have to stay on?” Jughead asks as Betty opens a bottle of wine. Tonight is the virtual happy hour that Veronica planned, cutting into his precious after-dinner Betty time. Jughead audibly groaned when he opened the email invitation from Veronica earlier in the week and saw the word “inaugural” prefacing the “happy hour.” He can only imagine how many of these things he and Betty will be forced to tune into out of social obligation.

“Don’t be so grumpy, Jug,” Betty says, as if she can read his mind. She hands him a wine glass with a sympathetic smile. “Drink up.”

“And smoke up,” Jughead adds, pulling the packed bong closer to him reflexively. 

Betty laughs. “True.”

“But you never answered my question,” Jughead says. “How long…?”

Betty gives him one of those seductive looks that makes his knees weak. A minute later—when he’s shaken himself back out of fantasies detailing _exactly_ where Betty’s seductive looks usually lead—Jughead frowns. “ _Oh_. So it’s gonna be a long time, huh?”

Betty shrugs guiltily, taking a sip of her wine. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Welcome, friends!” Veronica yells when Betty and Jughead connect to the call. Kevin and Fangs are already on the screen, waving to them enthusiastically.

“How are you two feeling?” Betty asks.

“I’m still feeling kinda weak, but we’re both mostly recovered at this point,” Kevin says, lifting his beer bottle to punctuate his point.

“Cheers to that!” Betty says, clinking her glass with Jughead’s. He appreciates the steady look she gives him, maintaining eye contact before returning her attention to the screen. She understands his social anxiety better than anyone.

Toni pops up next, the ends of her hair a new shade of purple. Veronica immediately zeroes in on the hairstyle change, and Jughead smokes through most of that conversation, only interrupted when Archie finally arrives, the last to join the Zoom call.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Archie says, looking disheveled as he settles on his couch. “I just got off the phone with my...with Josie.”

Betty and Jughead exchange a smirk, whereas Toni’s eyebrows raise. 

“Wait, Andrews,” Toni says. “Did you...I mean, I know you have a knack for scoring tickets to sold-out shows...but you’re not talking about _Josie McCoy_ , are you?”

Archie has never looked more smug in his life and Jughead snorts, earning a playful shove from Betty. 

“In fact, _Topaz_ , I am,” Archie says. “I am _dating_ Josie McCoy! In fact, I just had phone sex with her.”

The Zoom call descends into chaos for a few minutes after that, as Betty and Jughead look disgusted, smoking a bowl in an attempt to distract from the rated-R exchange Toni and Archie are having, with occasional interjections from Kevin and Fangs. Jughead is most interested in Veronica, silently listening with a neutral expression on her face.

“Game respects game,” Toni concludes to a mostly-silent video call when everything finally settles down. Veronica seizes on the moment, telling everyone about some drinking game she wants to play. 

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Jughead!” Veronica shrieks and Jughead jumps in his seat, Betty giggling and clutching his arm. He hadn’t realized his expression had been so readable through the screen.

“You okay, Jug?” Betty says, though she’s still laughing.

Jughead sighs. “I think I just need to go into self-timeout,” he says.

While Veronica is trying to figure out how to play said drinking game virtually, Kevin complains about the incredibly difficult process of applying for unemployment insurance in New York. “So there’s like certain days you can apply based on your last name. But it’s still _impossible_ to get through! And there’s so many steps, and...ugh. It’s just so _overloaded_. Suffice it to say, I still have not technically had my claim approved yet.”

“Meanwhile,” Fangs says, a comforting arm around Kevin’s shoulder. “I don’t even know the fate of my job! I’ve been on paid sick leave for the last couple weeks and I’m supposed to call next week for my schedule, but I just have this sinking feeling I’m gonna be furloughed.”

“I figured it out!” Veronica shrieks then and everyone laughs at her accidental lack of tact. She quickly apologizes but Fangs shakes his head, laughing the hardest of anyone on the call.

“No, go on, Veronica. A drinking game is legit much more fun than my impending unemployment,” Fangs says. 

Jughead shakes his head, laughing along, and taking a hearty gulp of his wine. 

He catches Betty’s eye as she shrieks with laughter at something Toni said and she locks on him, a silent _you okay_? 

In response, he leans forward to kiss Betty’s cheek briefly.

(Of course, somehow, that’s the moment Toni manages to capture on camera. “Always the photographer,” Betty will muse when Toni tags them on Instagram a couple hours later, after everyone has hung up.

Later that night, Jughead will lay in bed as Betty sleeps soundly beside him, staring at the photo on his phone in the dark. It’s the first time Jughead’s seen them through someone else’s eyes like this. He still can’t believe how good they look.)

But for now, he pulls back, watching Betty with a loving look on his face as she blushes at their friends’ teasing. He plays along with the drinking game, though he reserves the right to dole out sardonic comments whenever it’s his turn. After all, it makes Betty laugh every time. And he would do anything to hear that beautiful sound.

23.

**april 3, 2020**

Betty closes her laptop and lets out a deep breath. It’s thirty minutes after her work day was supposed to have ended, but she’s officially made it through another week. 

It had _not_ been an easy Friday. Ethel had been on Betty’s ass all day, nitpicking and just generally irritating Betty. She’d lost her cool a couple times throughout the day, and was grateful to Jughead for giving her space. He’d also recommended she video chat Veronica and Toni to vent during lunch, which she did. And it made her feel a little better. Still, she’d apologized to him many times and every time he’d told her to stop.

Around 5:00, when it had become very clear that Betty was not going to be logging off on time, Jughead had given her a kiss on the forehead before disappearing into their bed with his laptop. Their _bed. Well, wasn’t it? It’s been 23 days. And he knows me well enough to give me space on a shitty day. He’s earned the right to call that his bed._

She has a memory of making guacamole for Archie and Jughead’s Superbowl party the year before, of Jughead ranting and raving about how much he loved it. Remembering the avocados she’d picked up the day before, Betty stands up with a sly smile and gets to work.

She taps Jughead on the shoulder where he’s engrossed in some documentary. He looks up, cute in his surprise. “I made dinner,” she says and he grins, leaning up to kiss her. 

“Have I told you today that I love you?”

His excitement only doubles when he reaches the kitchen and sees that Betty has made them chicken quesadillas with her guacamole. 

“I wanted to say thank you for always knowing exactly what I need,” Betty explains as she sits in her seat, shooting him a shy smile. “Like today, you just knew I needed space and it...just meant so much to me.”

Jughead grins, reaching forward to clasp her hand. “To be fair, you know exactly what I need too, Betty,” he takes his hand out of Betty’s and grabs a chip, dipping it in guacamole with an overjoyed expression on his face. Betty giggles. “How did you know I was craving guac for real though, Betty? Are you a witch?”

Betty smirks, digging into her quesadilla. “Can’t go telling you all my secrets right away, now can I, Jones?” 

“You’re totally getting laid tonight, Cooper.”

24.

**april 4, 2020**

It becomes a lazy Saturday in bed through unspoken mutual desire. Cuddled up under blankets, reading their books or smoking weed or watching TV on one of their laptops...everything feels cozy and safe.

It’s a cloudy afternoon, anyway. Just past 3 PM and they’re spooning, Jughead ostensibly listening to a podcast but half-napping while Betty reads a book. Jughead has never been more excited to feel Betty’s ass wiggling against his front, his eyes opening drowsily.

“What a way to wake up,” he murmurs.

She laughs, a mock-offended tone as she turns around in his arms and says, “You were asleep, Juggie?”

He grins, her special nickname for him lighting something inside him as he reaches for the hem of her t-shirt. “Take this off,” he whispers, a command. “ _Now_.”

Betty’s eyes darken and she quickly complies, letting the thin fabric fall to the side and staring at him as he watches her. She’s so beautiful and he might have forgotten about the task at hand if she hadn’t grown impatient and lunged for him, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. He protests between sloppy kisses, wrestling with her for dominance, and somewhere in the tumble his shirt comes off too. 

“Too many clothes,” she whines, dragging her tongue along his neck and rubbing his ass.

Jughead smirks—unable to object when Betty is already fully naked for him—kissing her cheek and pulling off his boxers to match. He quickly pulls her back in, marking her neck on his way to a bruising kiss on the lips. She ruts against him, impatience coming off her in waves of desire.

“Jug,” she whispers. “Please.”

He kisses her again, reaching his hand down between them to tease at her clit. She whines, groaning when he removes his fingers just as quickly as they came.

“Be patient, love,” he whispers, kissing her cheek as he attempts a one-handed maneuver for the nightstand, where they’ve been keeping the box of condoms. Betty is still kissing him anywhere she can reach and he lets out a deep moan just as his hand knocks something off the stand, falling to the bedroom floor with a thud. 

“What was that?” he asks, a little panicked he’s broken something. Betty pulls up too, finally removing her lips from his skin.

“Oh,” she says, giggling as she peers over the edge of the bed. It’s her vibrator. She shoots him a look that he knows is really a question.

“You want to use it together?” he asks slowly, more convinced it’s a good idea by the end of his sentence. 

Betty nods enthusiastically, a blush covering her face. “If you’re into the idea, I would be. I’ve...always been curious what it would be like to use it with a partner.”

“You never have?”

She shakes her head. “You?” she asks faintly and he shakes his head just as quickly. 

“But it sounds...hot.” He’s not sure how else to describe the images that just went through his head, but the description seems to satisfy Betty, who runs an affectionate hand through his hair before standing up.

She swiftly grabs the vibrator off the ground. “Okay, so I’ll clean this thing and you find the condoms and we’ll resume?”

He nods, pulling her toward him by the ponytail and kissing her hard. “Don’t take too long,” he says flirtatiously. He watches her run to the bathroom with the vibrator in hand and finds the condoms a mere thirty seconds later, chuckling at the turn of events his simple mistake had set off.

But he’s definitely not sorry for his mistake a few minutes later.

Ever since saying “I love you,” their sex life had been more consistent and hot with every rendezvous, if that was even possible. But this somehow topped it all.

She explains to him that the vibrator is specifically designed to stimulate the clit and Jughead quickly figures out how Betty likes it. He’s mesmerized watching Betty writhe below him, spreadeagle on the bed as he pairs the vibrator over her clit with the two fingers he pumps in and out of her pussy. 

She’s chanting his name and gripping the sheets, squirming and shaking as he grins. “You like that, huh?” he says, a confidence in his voice he’s only ever able to locate during these moments, here, with Betty.

“ _Yes_ ,” she whispers with a scream, moving her hands to pull his hair instead. He groans, feels her touch in his dick. 

“Fuck, fuck. So close already, oh my God…” Her hips are lifting off the bed again and he adds a third finger, turning the setting up just a smidge on the vibrator and watching as Betty falls apart beneath him.

“Oh my God,” she repeats, over and over, gripping him tightly by the shoulders as waves of pleasure continue coursing through her, as she rides his fingers through it.

“ _Jughead_ ,” she says when she can finally catch her breath a minute later. “Holy shit.”

Jughead drops the vibrator to the bed and pulls Betty to him, kissing her hard. “That was _so_ hot,” he whispers into her neck. “I love watching you come. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Betty blushes, though she grabs his face and kisses him again, her hand soon reaching for his dick to find it rock-hard. “Should we finish what we started?” she whispers, and he can barely gulp out a “yes” before her mouth is on him, licking and sucking as it becomes his turn to grip the sheets.

“Stop, stop,” he says a mere ten seconds later. “I want to cum inside you,” he says, grabbing her a little roughly by the hair, the way he knows she likes it. She moans, reaching for the condom he’d left on the bed and ripping the package open.

“Get over there,” she says, pointing toward the headboard. “I’m gonna fucking ride you,” she says and he’s unsure it’s possible to be harder than he is right now. 

She gives his cock one last, long lick before rolling the condom down and settling herself above him. “Lick my tits,” she whispers, and he eagerly complies, sucking at her nipples just as she sinks down on him. 

They both moan at the contact and Jughead’s hands move to her hips even as he continues to bury his face in her chest. “Yes, yes,” Betty moans as she rides him, finding the pace she likes quickly.

“I’m not gonna last long, Betts,” he warns, the sound muffled by her boobs.

“I want you to cum, Juggie,” she responds, throwing her head back as he lifts his hips to slam into her. “Fuck _yes_.”

He moves one of his fingers to her clit, rubbing furiously. It’s her sultry gasps that bring him over the edge, cumming hard as she continues riding him through it. She finally slows and he slumps back onto the pillows, finally letting go of Betty’s hips when she moves to jump off him.

“That was so good, Jug,” she says, landing beside him and giggling into his neck.

“Was that the hottest sex we’ve ever had?” Jughead asks.

“Hands down,” Betty says, leaning forward and kissing him soundly. “And on that note, I need to pee.”

Jughead hoists himself up to dispose of the condom, grinning at memories of Betty coming on his fingers, of how powerful he’d felt watching her writhe below him. 

By the time Betty returns to the room, he can’t help it: he’s sitting up in bed, still shirtless, and typing rapidly on his laptop. Betty gives him a double take when she returns, grabbing his t-shirt off the floor and throwing it on.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs without completely glancing away from the computer screen.

“Late afternoon inspiration?” Betty asks, walking around the bed to climb in next to him.

“Yes. That sex was literally so good it inspired me to write,” Jughead says, finishing his sentence and pausing to lock eyes with Betty. 

“You’re not joking?” she asks and he shakes his head.

“Not even a little,” he says, reaching forward and brushing a lock of hair out of the way. 

“God, that’s hot,” Betty says, picking up her book from where she’d discarded it in the sheets. 

Just before dinnertime, Betty leans over and whispers, “You’re turning me on typing like that.”

“You’re insatiable, Betty Cooper,” he says, pausing to accept the kiss she gives him. “And I promise I’ll fuck you when I’m finished.”

She sighs in mock dramatics, though she admits, “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

25\. 

**april 5, 2020**

“Sixty-two degrees-”

“And a chance of sun in the afternoon, I know,” Betty says, sighing. 

They’re sitting at the kitchen table with almost-finished mugs of coffee. It’s just past 11 am and Jughead has been trying to convince her to go for a walk since they woke up. It’s annoying mostly because Jughead’s right. It’s a nice day. Hilda had made her promise to try going for a simple walk next. She’d texted Hilda to tell her the trip was a success the other day and her response of “Excellent! Onward!” felt like a heavy-handed hint.

“It’s good for us to get some exercise, some fresh air,” Jughead says, kissing her shoulder as he stands up to deposit his own mug into the sink. “We can make it quick! And then come back inside and watch Netflix all day if you want.”

Betty sighs, frowning in the way she always does when she knows she’s about to give in. “Okay,” she concedes. “But just around the block.”

“Just around the block,” Jughead agrees, shooting her one of those smiles he knows she can’t resist.

“Isn’t this nice?” Jughead says in an exaggerated tone, clasping hands as they pass the nearby community garden, plastered with flyers for long-cancelled events.

Betty winces, spotting a man across the street without a face mask. “ _So_ fun,” she says sarcastically and Jughead laughs, throwing his arm around Betty.

“I feel like we switched places, Cooper,” he teases, managing to get a laugh out of her. “You have to admit the fresh air is nice, right?”

Betty nods, her eyes drawn to a couple daffodils in a planter at the foot of a brownstone they pass. “Spring really is happening without us,” Betty says, not realizing how sad the thought sounds till it’s left her mouth.

Jughead squeezes her shoulders, stops them in place. “Spring is happening to us, right here, right now,” he says, locking eyes with her. “You and me. Okay?”

Betty nods, moved by the intensity of his gaze, even with masks on. “You and me, Jug,” she agrees, her voice quiet. He folds her into a hug.

She grins, comforted by the texture of his denim jacket on her denim jacket. Loving the way it feels to walk side by side down the street, hands swinging between them. She wonders what people think when they see them. If it looks like they’re newly in love, hanging on each other’s words like the dorks they are.

But she knows, truthfully, that what Jughead said is closest to the truth. Out here, where they’re in love and holding hands in medical masks, no one cares about them. That’s always been true about New York City, but in the middle of a pandemic it feels even more stark. It’s just Betty and Jughead and spring in Brooklyn. Everyone else is just a maskless stranger—as they are maskless strangers to everyone else.

Betty can’t help but feel relieved when the door to her apartment closes behind them, the satisfying click of the lock confirming it’s in place. She lets the suds cleanse her hands for much longer than twenty seconds, the water leaving her hands red and pruned.

And yet—for the first time in weeks, she’d found relief, too, in the simple act of walking down her block. And even if that was _all_ she’d done—a single full circle—it’s progress. And these days, that’s all Betty can really ask for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: I did some major outlining of the fic during the process of writing this chapter and have a much more solid idea of where this fic is going, hence the updated chapter count. Basically: i’ve decided to write 11 chapters outlining Betty and Jughead’s first 75 days in quarantine — followed eventually by a chapter 12 epilogue I will write at the end of all this which flash forwards to the end of their quarantine!
> 
> On a related note, uh….remember how I said this story would follow whatever my journey ended up being? So...funny story, I’m unemployed now! The union I work(ed) for had to essentially furlough me so I will be applying for unemployment and hopefully spending a lot of time writing for however long this lasts. And just in case anyone is also dealing with unemployment, I guess I just wanted to give a courtesy heads up that there will be lay-offs coming in this story. Honestly, there’s almost no way there couldn’t be. The majority of my friends - who are basically the same age as Betty and Jughead in this - have sadly been laid off at this point, whether because their businesses are non-essential and they can’t work remotely, or because, like me, the pandemic has squeezed the business to the point that they make the financial decision to lay significant amount of staff off. Seniority often plays a role in this decision, so a lot of young professionals like me lost our jobs. Media has a LOT of lay-offs. It’s a sad truth that these characters would inevitably experience it. It’s not coming this chapter or even next but it’s coming, y’all! 
> 
> Hope you’re all social distancing and washing your hands and trying your best to take care of your mental health.
> 
> Your comments make me smile very wide on hard days!
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> Maria


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a stormy Passover for Betty and Jughead as Bernie Sanders suspends his presidential campaign. Plus: a virtual Easter celebration with Cheryl, more apocalypse jokes, and adventures in edible-baking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, thanks for your patience! This chapter was hard to write for a few reasons.
> 
> I adjusted the overall story timeline a bit to ensure I could include George Floyd and the historic protests to defund the police (which applies more to the later chapters but still. Haven’t decided yet if I’m gonna split chapter 11 into two chapters and make chapter 13 the epilogue, or just make chapter 11 longer. Only time will tell!) 
> 
> In a similar vein, the energy of this moment feels so disconnected from where we were a mere two months earlier—when Chapter 7 takes place, somehow—that I was having trouble getting back to that headspace for a lot of days.
> 
> And then also related: Bernie Sanders has really disappointed me during this political moment. He has fallen short of the demand that all of us who have read any amount of work on the prison industrial complex in the U.S. _know_ is necessary: defund (in an effort to gradually abolish) the police, and redistribute that funding to social services. Bernie was _always_ the compromise candidate for me and all of us who identify under the anticapitalist umbrella, if you will. but that’s just because our ass-backwards country is the way it is. It makes Bernie’s “radical” ideas not even radical enough for the actual lived reality of oppressed people in this country. And at this moment in time, it’s unfortunately become very, very clear. (Don’t get me wrong though, I cast an absentee ballot for Bernie in NY. I’m still sad AF that he’s not our nominee over fuckwad-literal-sexual-assaulter Biden. But Bernie is not perfect, and this moment has made that starker to me than ever.)
> 
> RE: learning more police abolition, I highly recommend “The New Jim Crow” by Michelle Alexander, basically anything by Angela Davis, The End of Policing by Alex Vitale, the abolitionist demands on 8toabolition.com, and the #DefundPolice toolkit at https://www.interruptingcriminalization.com/ as a start. These ideas will also definitely feature in the last couple chapters, when we reach that moment in the timeline of this fic. Spoiler alert: Betty and Jughead will protest. And they, too, will feel disappointed in Bernie. 
> 
> So, stay tuned! More to come, continuing with our balance of making sense of our horrifying reality and fluffy/ in-love, early relationship Bughead. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy,
> 
> Maria
> 
> ALSO, see the after notes for links to all articles referenced in the chapter!

26.

**april 6, 2020**

“A case of the Mondays” has taken on new meaning in the endless monotony of working from home during a global crisis. Jughead’s work is ebbing and flowing lately. He’s been trying not to read too much into it, even as he notices his boss’s shared calendar filling rapidly with meetings with the higher-ups. 

Jughead logs off at 5 on the dot every day now. Toward the beginning of quarantine, he’d usually at least finish the task at hand if he wasn’t technically done with his work for the day right at 5 PM. Now, it’s hard enough to make it to quitting time without giving up. 

He’s skating by in many ways, and he knows it. 

But how else to react to this sudden and profound shift? It’s not like he’s working at his dream job. The pay is laughable, the work a far cry from how he wants to be filling his days. He much prefers the evenings, when he can write his novel or eat and laugh and _be_ with Betty. Where has this sudden cavalier attitude come from? Maybe it’s the obvious boredom Betty had admitted at her job. Or maybe it’s that not having to walk into his corporate media building every day feels like a weight lifting off his shoulders in a way he didn’t realize it would. 

Betty laughs when Jughead’s laptop closes only two seconds after the clock changes from 4:59 to 5:00. She’s typing out a final email, though she says, “What shall we eat for dinner, Jug?”

“Do you want to make that pasta?” Jughead asks, eyes lighting up at the thought of his favorite pasta sauce Betty makes. “I’m kinda craving garlic bread and I know we got another package from the frozen section.”

Betty doesn’t answer until she’s finished rereading her draft and sent it off. She smiles at Jughead as she closes the laptop. “Pasta it is! But you know you have to be my sous-chef for this recipe, right?”

Jughead nods, grinning. “Just tell me what to chop or grate, Betts.”

Jughead plops onto the couch next to Betty, just having finished washing the dishes. She’s gotten as far as clicking on Netflix; an auto-played advertisement for some new reality show blares in the background. 

“Truly a delicious meal, Betts,” he says.

Betty shoots him an affectionate smile. “I try,” she replies. “Hey, wanna smoke a bowl?”

“Yes, please,” Jughead says, watching her jump up to grab her bong and grinder from her nightstand.

Jughead scrolls through Twitter on his phone as Betty retrieves their jar of weed from under the coffee table and places a couple thick nugs into the teeth of her grinder. 

“Hey, did you see that Cuomo officially extended the stay-at-home order to April 29th?” Jughead says, looking up when Betty doesn’t respond with her usual hum of acknowledgment. He has to hold back a snort when he realizes Betty is huffing in frustration as she struggles to take a first hit out of her newly-packed bong, only to exhale the tiniest little hit. She’d been complaining about how dirty her bong was all weekend.

“Betty,” he says, and she snaps up, as if only just remembering he was there. 

“Yes?” she asks with a guilty look on her face.

“You have isopropyl alcohol in the bathroom, right?”

Betty nods enthusiastically. “Are you offering what I think you’re offering?”

Jughead gently takes the bong from Betty’s hands and nods. “Put whatever you want on the TV. I’m cleaning this thing. It’s what you deserve.”

Betty leans back on the couch, a hand over her heart as she shoots him a genuinely touched look. “You’re too good to me.”

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he promises, winking at her before heading for the bathroom. 

Jughead lets the water run hot while he pours alcohol down the stem. The simple act of cleaning a piece will always remind him of the rare happy times during his loneliest years in college. He plugs up all the holes, shaking the bong and letting the isopropyl alcohol do its job. Watching the globs of dark resin swirl down the drain is weirdly satisfying as he rinses the glass tube. When the deed is finally done, he grins at how intensely clean and sparkly it looks. 

He emerges from the bathroom wielding the newly-clean piece and Betty squeals in excitement when she spots it. “Oh my _God_ ,” she says, taking the bowl Jughead hands her and filling it with grinded weed.

Jughead watches Betty take a generous first hit, letting it out with a satisfied smile. “This is the sexiest thing you’ve ever done,” she flirts, passing him the bong. 

He can feel her eyes on him as he takes his hit. She’s right; the bong being this clean just points out how intensely dirty they’d let it get in the midst of their quarantine depression. He places the bong back on the coffee table, turning to see that Betty is still giving him a seductive look. 

“You want to dirty me up after we finish smoking this clean bong?” Jughead says in his most flirtatious tone.

Betty bursts out laughing, slapping her palm against her forehead. “I hate that I’m saying this because that was a new level of corny, even for you: but _yes_.”

(Jughead has never been more grateful that Betty remembered to buy a new pack of condoms at the grocery store last week.)

27.

**april 7, 2020**

There’s a general grumbling in the air, and neither of them can shake it. Yesterday it had settled in, another layer of despair, when they’d read the statement the Sanders campaign released on the Wisconsin primary going ahead as scheduled:

_Let's be clear: holding this election amid the coronavirus outbreak is dangerous, disregards the guidance of public health experts, and may very well prove deadly. For that reason, our campaign will not be engaged in any traditional GOTV efforts._

The pandemic has become inherently political in the most confounding ways. For leftists like Betty and Jughead, it’s clear that forcing constituents to choose between risking infection and exercising their right to vote is undemocratic at best and deadly at worst. It’s even clearer that in a society that makes it impossible for millions of Americans to access healthcare, it disproportionately puts working-class communities at risk of literal death. (“Late capitalist hellscape” had been thrown around more than once already that day.)

Loyal conservative voters, refusing to believe the science or the public health experts due to the right-wing media (read: propaganda) they consume, are more likely to head to the polls despite the risk of infection. And, as Betty and Jughead had ranted to death earlier that day—voter suppression is a strategy that both Republicans _and_ establishment Democrats use to hold onto their power. (“So this is really just business as usual, right?” Jughead had said angrily.)

While Betty and Jughead are both proud to support the candidate who genuinely cares enough about working-class people to refuse to engage in campaign efforts that would put voters and staff at risk, the outcome still looks grim. Bernie’s behind, and the kind of voters who will be turning out will almost certainly lean Biden. The dread lingered in the air all afternoon as they worked.

Now it's evening and the polls are closing soon. Jughead is washing dishes while Betty dries and reads him headlines from Twitter.

“Ugh, we’re up to 72,324 cases in New York City,” Betty says. (Today is one of the days Jughead will allow her to look at the number. He’s stopped her a few times before, when he can see her fixating too hard on the death toll numbers again, and for that Betty is eternally grateful.) “3,202 deaths,” she adds with a shudder.

“And yet, there are people out waiting in lines to vote in Wisconsin! Or having to just say ‘fuck it’ and not get to do their civic duty because they don’t want to, you know, risk infection slash potential death!” Jughead rants. 

Betty laughs cynically as she carefully dries her baby-pink bread bowl, a splurge from a shopping day with Veronica. “I _literally_ hate it here.”

Twenty minutes later, she lets out that cynical chuckle again, around a cloud of smoke while sitting next to Jughead on the couch. She pauses, and then reads a tweet from @AriBerman aloud: “Polls have now closed in Wisconsin. We don’t know who the winners are but the big loser is democracy.”

Jughead lets out a laugh of his own, then a frown, as he scrolls through an article on his phone. “Do you remember that dude Ammon Bundy, the Oregon wildlife refuge armed takeover guy?”

Betty’s eyes widen with recognition. Indeed, she and Jughead had both been _fascinated_ by that 41-day stand-off, which took place the year they met. “Oh, God,” she says. “What’s he doing now? Besides getting away with doing shit while white that a person of color in this country would absolutely get murdered by the police for doing.”

“Absolutely true,” Jughead says, looking up from his phone. “And the same old right-wing nutjob shit. He led a meeting in Boise that violated Idaho’s stay-at-home order to protest the government forcing people to stay home during the coronavirus outbreak.”

Betty plugs the key words into her own search bar. “Oh my fucking God...apparently right-wing lockdown protests are a thing across the country now? Eject!” She puts her phone on the coffee table facedown. “I need to craft!” she declares.

Jughead laughs and puts his own phone beside hers. “Good,” he says. “Because I am feeling the urge to write.”

They throw a rerun of _The Office_ on, Jughead typing at the kitchen table and Betty drawing at the coffee table. They manage to let the many problems of their country float from their minds, but just for a little while.

28.

**april 8, 2020**

Jughead wakes up feeling refreshed. It’s a shame he had to look at his phone. 

The primary results are sitting right there, and they’re as to be expected: 62.9% Biden, 31.8% Sanders.

“Fuck,” Jughead says, rolling over on his side to find Betty similarly frowning at her screen. 

“Coffee?” Betty grumbles, kissing him on the forehead when he nods gratefully.

Jughead brushes his teeth in the bathroom while Betty sits on the closed toilet, reading from a New York Times article: “‘In Milwaukee, where the number of polling stations was reduced from 180 to only _five!’_ —Jug, only _five!_ For an entire city! Sorry — ‘voters tried to exercise proper social distancing as they waited, in some cases, for more than two hours.’”

Jughead spits into the sink. “All the features of a free and fair election,” he says sarcastically, reaching into the cabinet for the floss. 

Betty continues reading: “‘Milwaukee has the biggest minority population in the state, which means that geographic and partisan differences in access to voting often overlap with racial ones.’ Yep, suppressing the Black vote is one of the most consistent fucking American practices.” Through the mirror, Jughead sees Betty drop the phone to rant. “See: the incarcerated Black population in our country, then relegated to an eternal underclass even upon release because of the ‘felony box’ they have to check on _every-_ fucking-thing.”

“Okay, Michelle Alexander,” Jughead jokes, throwing the floss in the trash and grabbing the face wash from the cabinet instead.

“She’s right,” Betty says stubbornly. 

“I know she is,” Jughead says quietly before splashing water on his face.

Jughead finishes toweling off and Betty stands up, holds his shoulder. “My turn. Switch?”

Jughead nods, kissing her cheek and grabbing her phone. He takes her seat, finding his place in the article and continuing. “‘The scenes that unfolded in Wisconsin showed an electoral system stretched to the breaking point by the same public health catastrophe that has killed thousands and brought the country’s economic and social patterns to a virtual standstill in recent weeks.’” Jughead notices that Betty’s tooth-brushing becomes more vigorous as he reads, her shoulders tensing up with anger. “‘And in Wisconsin, the political institutions proved overmatched, with a Republican legislature and a conservative state and federal judiciary resisting efforts to reschedule the election or revise the procedures for voting.’”

Betty spits into the sink, her face disgusted. “Anything else important?” she asks as she suds up her hands and starts washing her face.

Jughead shrugs, scanning the article. “Just lots of talk about how we need to figure out voting by mail and such, or the rest of this spring’s primaries _and_ the November general election could be pandemic catastrophes.”

Betty splashes her face with water, patting herself dry. “Really looking forward to therapy later.”

Unfortunately, Betty spoke too soon. It’s 11:20 AM when their quiet work morning is interrupted by both their phones buzzing on the kitchen table. 

Jughead lifts his eyes to meet Betty, finding a similarly confused look mirroring his own.

“Archie?” Betty guesses, reaching for her phone. “Oh, it’s a text from Bernie’s campaign.”

Jughead swipes for his phone too, following along silently as Betty starts to read aloud: “‘Bernie Sanders wants to share a special message with his supporters at 11:45 AM Eastern time. We hope you’ll join us.’”

By the end of the text, Jughead’s stomach is sinking. He locks eyes with Betty. 

“Why do I feel instant dread?” Betty asks.

Jughead swallows a lump in his throat. “Twitter?”

They both log on quickly, scrolling through the timeline. It only takes a minute for the fear sitting deep in his belly to be confirmed.

Jughead coughs and says, “Found it.” 

Betty’s eyes flit up from her laptop, waiting. 

“‘Bernie Sanders expected to address public about announcement he’s suspending his campaign at 11:45 AM,’” Jughead reads in a grim voice.

“Noooo!” Betty says. “Ugh. God. _Fuck!_ ”

“I... _fuck!_ ” Jughead agrees, slamming a fist down on the table. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Betty says, a tear springing to her eye that she quickly wipes away. “I feel the same way.”

Jughead refreshes his Twitter feed, spots leftists and democratic socialists and labor activists he follows memeing and mourning the campaign all over his timeline.

His phone buzzes again, alerting him to texts from Sweet Pea and Jellybean, just as Betty’s phone rings. 

“I’m picking up this FaceTime from Veronica!” Betty calls to him and he nods, opening the text from Jellybean first.

 **JELLYBEAN:** yo fuck this! Bernie or bust!

 **JELLYBEAN:** no but are YOU okay?

“Hey Veronica, hey Toni,” Betty says grimly upon picking up her FaceTime call.

“I can’t believe this!” Toni yells. “ _Fuck this_! Am I expected to vote for _Joe Biden_? 1994 Crime Bill Joe Biden?” Jughead can’t help but laugh at Toni’s rant. Betty always said that Toni was her other political bestie. 

He opens Sweet Pea’s text just as he feels another coming in from Archie.

 **SWEET PEA:** dude, call me. I’m SO FUCKING PISSED

“I...we had so much hope. In March, there was so much hope,” Veronica says on Betty’s screen.

“I know, I’m just...I guess I thought he’d stay in the race a little while longer. It’s this fucking pandemic,” Betty says mournfully.

“Hey, how’s Jughead holding up? I mean, I initiated this call because I figured you two might need some emotional support,” Veronica says. Toni cackles at that.

“I’m okay!” Jughead calls. Betty giggles and points the camera at him. “Hi!” he waves at the camera and makes a frowny face. “You know, one of our only little slivers of hope we had left in this late capitalist hellscape is about to be gone forever! Doing totally fine!”

Betty laughs. “Like most couples, we’re gonna have a collective breakdown as soon as we hang up,” she says, turning the camera back on herself just as Jughead’s phone rings. 

“Sweet Pea?” Jughead picks up the FaceTime call to find Sweet Pea slumped on his bed looking absurdly depressed. 

Before Jughead can even say “hi,” Sweet Pea launches into a rant. “What are we gonna _do_ , man? We are so fucked. Biden’s not gonna beat Trump! We’re gonna be stuck with four more years of that fucker! Or, best case scenario, we’re stuck with proudly-boasts-of-working-with-segregationists _Biden_?” 

Across the table, he sees Betty hanging up with her friends and promising to talk to them later. “You tell ‘em, Sweet Pea!” Betty calls as she hears the tail-end of his rant. 

“Thank you, Betty!” Sweet Pea calls and Jughead laughs. 

“Agreed to all of that, man,” he says.

“Wait, Jug! It starts in three minutes!” Betty says.

“Let’s talk more later after Bernie’s address?” Jughead says to Sweet Pea.

Sweet Pea grumbles but agrees. “Sure. Talk to you later, bud. Love you.”

“Love ya too,” Jughead says before hanging up.

“Let’s see if we can cast it to the TV?” Betty says quietly, and he nods. They take their laptops to the couch. Jughead shrugs his arm around Betty and pulls her in close.

* * *

“You’d think I’d be prepared for this after 2016, but no,” Betty says, watching the static screen and waiting for the livestream to begin.

“Did you see what Archie said?” Jughead asks and Betty shakes her head, realizing she left her phone on the kitchen table. “He texted both of us,” Jughead explains. “He said ‘RIP democracy and RIP Bernie 2020.’”

Betty sighs. “Correct,” she says cynically, leaning into Jughead’s chest. 

“Who knew D-Day would come so soon?” Jughead says sadly, just a minute before Bernie finally appears on screen. Betty sighs, a pang in her stomach as she realizes she’s once again being asked by establishment Democrats to abandon her principles. 

“He looks sad,” Betty says quietly as Bernie begins his speech. “Good morning and thank you very much for joining me.” Betty feels Jughead squeeze her shoulder. “I want to express to each of you my deep gratitude for helping to create an unprecedented grassroots political campaign that has had a profound impact in changing our nation.”

Bernie thanks all the campaign staff and volunteers and surrogates and donors who powered the campaign, and it does feel a little reassuring to remember how many millions of people across the country are watching this too, mourning this moment. More importantly, hopefully all those people will be ready to continue the fight for a better world together.

“The greatest obstacle to reach social change has everything to do with the power of the corporate and political establishment to limit our vision as to what is possible and what we are entitled to as human beings,” Bernie says. 

“Yes!” Betty screams, pumping her fist. 

Jughead laughs. “I need to adopt your energy.”

“What do we have to lose?” Betty counters. Jughead squeezes her shoulder and kisses her cheek, as if to say “you’re right.”

“If we don’t believe that we are entitled to health care as a human right, we will never achieve universal health care,” Bernie says. 

“That’s right!” Betty yells.

“If we don’t believe that we are entitled to decent wages and working conditions, millions of us will continue to live in poverty. If we don’t believe that we are entitled to all of the education we require to fulfill our dreams, many of us will leave schools saddled with huge debt, or never get the education we need,” Bernie continues.

Betty can’t muster enthusiasm for that one, feels it in the pit in her stomach. Feels it in the way her fingers so often reach to check her bank account before making a purchase, in the number she can see clear as day in her mind announcing the thousands and thousands of dollars of student debt she still owes. 

“Preach it, Bernie!” Jughead says, smiling at Betty, like he’s picking up the torch for her. 

She grins and leans in to kiss his cheek. What else to do? They know this campaign, at least, is over. Might as well go out strong.

“If we don’t believe that we are entitled to live in a world that has a clean environment and is not ravaged by climate change, we will continue to see more drought, floods, rising sea levels, an increasingly uninhabitable planet,” Bernie continues.

“Please let us have an inhabitable planet!” Betty yells. “Wow, I’m getting less coherent.”

“It’s okay, I won’t judge, Betts.”

“If we don’t believe that we are entitled to live in a world of justice, democracy and fairness, without racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia or religious bigotry, we will continue to have massive income and wealth inequality, prejudice and hatred, mass incarceration, terrified immigrants, and hundreds of thousands of Americans sleeping out on the streets in the richest country on Earth. And focusing on that new vision for America is what our campaign has been about and what, in fact, we have accomplished.”

“Ugh, we never even got to vote for him,” Betty says as Bernie pauses again.

“Seriously. I hate how late New York votes!” Jughead says. “I’m used to voting so much earlier in Massachusetts, when it actually still means something.”

“Why does this system make any sense again?” Betty says, baffled.

Bernie continues: “Few would deny that over the course of the past five years our movement has won the ideological struggle. In so-called red states and blue states and purple states, a majority of the American people now understand that we must raise the minimum wage to at least $15 an hour, that we must guarantee health care as a right to all of our people, that we must transform our energy system away from fossil fuel, and that higher education must be available to all, regardless of income. It was not long ago that people considered these ideas radical and fringe. Today they are mainstream ideas, and many of them are already being implemented in cities and states across the country. That is what we have accomplished together.”

Betty nods, breathing in and out deeply. Bernie’s first presidential campaign had been launched at the very end of their college years, a time when her youthful hope was still flickering. The next four years had flown by as the reality of adulthood sunk in, but then so had the urgency of Bernie’s message. She’d forgotten how much progress they really _had_ made in those four years, how many of Bernie’s central positions considered radical in 2016 were more widely accepted.

Jughead tears up when Bernie starts talking about all the ways the coronavirus pandemic has made the need for universal healthcare clearer than ever. How, when faced with a deadly virus that our country isn’t even handling correctly according to health officials’ guidance, millions of families will be stuck with insurmountable medical bills and debt, whether or not their loved one survives. 

Betty kisses his cheek, gently wiping the tear with her thumb. “Jellybean?” she whispers.

He nods. “And Sweet Pea. They’re both uninsured.” Betty nuzzles in closer to him.

And then it comes, from Bernie Sanders’ mouth, the final blow: “I wish I could give you better news, but I think you know the truth. And that is we are now some 300 delegates behind Vice President Biden, and the path toward victory is virtually impossible. So while we are winning the ideological battle, and while we are winning the support of so many young people and working people throughout the country, I have concluded that this battle for the Democratic nomination will not be successful. So today I’m announcing the suspension of my campaign.”

“Oof,” Jughead says. “Right in the gut.”

“There’s something about hearing _Bernie_ say it,” Betty agrees.

“I cannot in good conscience continue to mount a campaign that cannot win and which would interfere with the important work required of all of us in this difficult hour,” Bernie continues.

Betty sighs. “I guess it’s true. I mean, we do need him fighting for us in the Senate during the pandemic. But...ugh.”

“Today I congratulate Joe Biden, a very decent man who I will work with to move our progressive ideas forward,” Bernie says, and Betty immediately makes a “yuccckkk” sound.

“Yikes, Bernie,” Betty says. “Biden is a sexual harasser so, by definition, I’d say _not_ a decent man.”

“Boo!” Jughead agrees. “I know that’s like, what he has to say, but still _boo! Why_ is that what he has to say? _”_

Bernie reminds everyone that he will remain on the ballot and continue to gather delegates in the hopes of influencing the party platform toward the left, which gives Betty and Jughead some hope. “At least we can make _some_ influence whenever we get to vote,” Betty says, laughing. 

The address ends too soon, and they’re left staring at the screen in silence. Their one piece of hope they’d been holding onto for so long...dashed.

Jughead speaks first, reaching for her hand. “We should get back to work, huh?”

Betty nods, swallowing thickly. “Yeah.” Jughead stands up and Betty lets him pull her to her feet.

They’re both distracted for the rest of the day. Every time she’s successfully closed out of a Twitter tab, one of her friends or co-workers sends her another article or tweet and she gets sucked back in.

Right at 5:00, they close up shop for the day, order a pizza, and roll two fat joints to smoke in Bernie’s honor. Standing near Betty’s kitchen window to let in some fresh air, Betty and Jughead continue to mourn the campaign as they pass the joints back and forth.

“Man, and on the first night of Passover too? We could’ve had the first Jewish president and instead we have this,” Jughead says.

“Thank God I have therapy later!” Betty laments. “Hilda will know just what to say.”

29\. 

**april 9, 2020**

It’s 10 AM and Jughead is pretty sure he hasn’t concentrated on any work for longer than five minutes since he heard the news about Bernie’s campaign. He’s been through this before, of course, with Bernie’s 2016 campaign and plenty of other failed candidates over the last couple years. He knows he’ll get over it soon, that he’ll continue to follow the social movements that drove Bernie’s platform to become even better in 2020. That voting is just one way that change is made. There has been no significant social change in this country without deep organizing and direct action. The night before, Betty and Jughead had stayed up late having this very conversation over a third joint, because at midnight neither could settle down enough to even consider trying to sleep. 

“Sorry I’m so depressed,” Jughead says now, having noticed Betty rolling her eyes a little as he grumbled about a third Bernie-specific thinkpiece he couldn’t help but read.

“Jughead,” Betty says, looking up from her laptop with soft eyes. 

“Yeah?” he says, running a frustrated hand through his hair. It feels greasy, and he remembers he’d neglected to shower that morning.

“I’m sad too,” she says. “But maybe we should...focus on other news? You know, I think that’s what Bernie _wants_ us to do. Use our momentum to try to influence policies that will keep working people afloat during this awful pandemic. You know, like keep pushing past what they were able to achieve with the CARES Act.”

Jughead manages to crack a smile at Betty’s words. “I love you,” he says and little spots of pink dot her cheeks. 

“I love you too,” she says softly. 

“So, what you’re saying is, I should get depressed about _different_ things in order to get over my depression about the Bernie campaign specifically?”

Betty nods enthusiastically, and then adopts a British accent: “By George, I think he’s got it!”

Jughead grimaces at her and she sticks her tongue out at him.

“Never--” Jughead starts to say, but she holds her palm up in surrender.

“--Again. Yes, I get it.”

“Okay, Cooper. So what are you reading over there?” An email appears in his inbox thirty seconds later, with links to two articles. He scans the headlines and then looks up at her, a goofy grin on his face. “Is there a limit on how much time must pass in between times when I tell you I love you?”

Betty blushes, laughing. “ _What_?”

“I just love your brilliance,” he says, blowing her a kiss and settling in to read the articles she’s sent.

They talk about new data released that day by New York City revealing that coronavirus is killing Black and Latino people at twice the rate of white people in the city. Mayor De Blasio himself had admitted, “The truth is that in so many ways the negative effects of coronavirus — the pain it’s causing, the death it’s causing — tracks with other profound health care disparities that we have seen for years and decades.”

Of course, this is unsurprising considering that “essential workers” are disproportionately working-class people of color, the very people who cannot afford to stay home and must venture out every day in order to survive. Related to that, the second article Betty sent reported that at least 41 transit workers have died related to COVID-19 complications, while 6,000 have either fallen sick or are self-quarantined. TWU Local 100, the transit workers’ union, had fought hard to get PPE to workers, but the MTA had stalled enough to make the resulting deaths avoidable tragedies.

Jughead thinks the quotes from the transit workers themselves will stick with him for days. In fact, it’s how he’s motivated to get back to work, feeling immensely privileged to a) still have a job and b) have a job that allows him to work remotely.

_“We’re seeing a lot of our co-workers getting sick or dying. The morale is down. It is very, very bad,” said Nasar Abdurrahman, a bus operator. A colleague at his bus depot, Ernesto Hernandez, died from the virus at the end of March._

_Daniel Cruz, a bus operator who has worked at the M.T.A. for three years, tested positive for the coronavirus on March 29 — three days after he learned that a friend and colleague, Oliver Cyrus, had died from the virus._

_“I love my job, but I’m not looking forward to going back to work. I feel like we’ve been left to defend ourselves,” Mr. Cruz said. “At this point, we’re just transporting the virus.”_

Betty’s right. By the time Jughead is satisfied enough to get back to work, he’s sufficiently traded one news-induced depression for another. Progress? Maybe. Whatever that means these days.

In the early afternoon, an absurdly intense thunderstorm hits Brooklyn. They pause their work to watch out the window, and Jughead cracks more jokes about Passover, the end of days, and Bernie suspending his campaign than he knew he was capable of producing. It’s weirdly cathartic, but does nothing to quell the apocalyptic vibes.

Neither does the similarly-intense sun that shines through the windows later in the afternoon.

“Well, Jughead,” Betty dead-pans, her eyes still glued to her laptop screen. “If it _is_ the end of the world, I’m quite glad to be stuck with you.”

* * *

Thursday evening rolls around again, and Betty and Jughead are expected on a Zoom call in three minutes. Veronica is _very_ insistent on making this virtual happy hour a weekly tradition, clearly getting more bored by the day, alone in her studio apartment.

Jughead seems less hesitant than last week, mostly due to the fact that they’re all eager to mourn Bernie’s campaign together. (Also, after last week’s attempt yielded lackluster results, Veronica had thankfully given up on making them play virtual drinking games.)

“Condolences, friends,” Jughead says when Betty and Jughead’s audio finally connects. Veronica and Archie both wave sadly at them.

“Hey, friends,” Archie says sadly, slumped back on his couch. “I’m sad today.”

“Me too, Arch,” Betty says sadly, leaning into the arm Jughead throws around her shoulder. “RIP Bernie 2020.”

Toni joins next, connecting just in time to hear the next sentence out of Veronica’s mouth.

“You two are so lucky,” Veronica says mournfully. “To have people to fuck out your feelings with! I mean, look at these two. I bet they’re doing it at least once a day.”

Betty and Jughead both blush scarlet. Toni laughs loudly. “Well, hello, friends. What a greeting. We’re already getting the scoop on Betty’s sex life?”

“Well, Veronica’s _trying_ to,” Archie says. “Hey, Topaz!”

“Andrews! How’s your lady?”

Archie sighs wistfully. “I just wish I could touch her,” he says. “But otherwise, Josie and I are _perfect_.”

Toni looks impressed, tipping her beer can at her screen. “You are truly an inspiration to us all.”

Kevin and Fangs finally pop up, completing the group as Veronica claps her hands together excitedly. “Hey, guys!”

“Guess who _finally_ successfully submitted their unemployment application today?” Kevin yells in greeting and everyone cheers. Jughead takes a big bong rip and blows the smoke at the camera.

When the cheering has died down, Fangs frowns and adds, “Sadly, _I_ must now begin the unemployment process. They officially furloughed me yesterday.”

“Ah, sorry, Fangs,” Betty says. Everyone else echoes the sentiment.

He shrugs. “It wasn’t the best job, but it was something. But so it goes.”

“So,” Veronica says. “Before we go any further, should we pour one out for our boy Bernie?”

Everyone nods solemnly, lifting up beer cans and bongs and pipes. “To Bernie!” they all yelp before taking generous swigs and hits.

When he blows out his hit, Jughead quickly insists, “Don’t forget, we all still have to vote for Bernie in the primary so we can influence the party platform toward the left!”

“Yes, thank you, Jughead,” Toni says. “But I need some Real Biden Complaining Hours right now and I was told this would be a safe space.”

Jughead holds his hands up in surrender, looking impressed. “You have the floor, Toni,” he says.

Toni launches into a speech about Joe Biden’s awful legacy of racist policies that Betty’s heard many times before, but it’s fun to see Jughead eating it up, to watch Archie laugh at one of Toni’s snarky, improvised jokes. 

Jughead’s arm is still on her shoulder, and the weight of it feels like a security blanket. A breath in and out, another hit, one of Veronica’s high-pitched squealing giggles that always makes Betty laugh. Even with the world falling apart, it’s nice to be in the virtual company of the people she loves, making the best of it. 

30\. 

**april 10, 2020**

“Okay, the symbolism is getting a bit heavy-handed at this point,” Jughead says. 

It’s 12 PM on Good Friday. Jughead and Betty stand side by side at her kitchen window with their second cups of coffee for the day in hand. Outside, the wind blows forcefully, kicking up leaves and plastic bodega bags.

“Seriously,” Betty says, laughing. “Are you sure you didn’t write this weather for a climactic scene in your novel?”

Jughead sips his coffee. “That’s the problem with 2020. Take it from your lowly publishing assistant: pre-pandemic, if any editor had received a manuscript that contained the plot of just this year alone, they’d tell you it was too unrealistic.” 

Betty snorts. “That’s for sure.” 

Her gaze doesn’t leave the window and he watches her closely as Betty’s eyes carefully follow each masked passerby in the street below until they disappear from view. Jughead reaches for Betty’s shoulder, covered in the familiar purple of her NYU sweatshirt, and rests his arm there. 

She grins, leaning into his touch. “Are we being complete slackers?”

“I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about. We’re just taking an extended break at the water cooler with our co-workers,” Jughead counters. 

“Ah, yes,” Betty says, giggling.

When the coffee cups are empty, they begrudgingly return to their work-stations, falling back into emails and reports as the wind continues to howl against the trees and bang against the window-panes. When she gets bored again, Betty stands up in a huff to fix a comforting grilled cheese and tomato soup lunch. They eat while watching the latest episode of _Last Week Tonight with John Oliver,_ letting out cathartic laughter at the absurdity of present reality.

Between Covid and the amount of people who took off for the holiday, Betty and Jughead’s workflow slows significantly in the second half of the day. As has become their tradition, they move to the couch. Betty rolls a joint and they prop their laptops up on the coffee table to maintain the half-hearted illusion of a workday while they laugh and smoke.

* * *

One activity that Betty has learned Jughead will never say “no” to is serving as her sous-chef, so long as there’s a delicious meal at the end. Good Friday feels like a perfect occasion to put Jughead to work chopping ingredients for a recipe she’s been meaning to make ever since she picked up the eggplant and onions that are _just_ about to go bad if she doesn’t use them soon.

“What are we making, exactly?” Jughead asks, wiping tomato juice off his nose with the back of his arm as he chops tomatoes at the kitchen table.

At the counter, Betty minces garlic. “You’re not gonna know what it is, I bet.”

“Excuse me, Betty Cooper. What is this absolute _snobbery_?” Jughead says in an exaggerated tone. She pauses her mincing to shoot him an amused look. 

“Okay,” she says, maintaining eye contact as he pauses his own chopping. “We’re making eggplant caponata.”

Jughead tries to keep a straight face, but she raises her eyebrows, challenging him. “Fine, you win. I don’t know what the fuck that is,” Jughead says. Betty giggles. “But I love eggplant and basically all food, so I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”

“You’re gonna love it, baby,” she says, blushing when the term of endearment slips out of her mouth. She quickly turns back to the cutting board, hiding her face from him, but it’s too late. She hears Jughead set down his knife and walk behind her. 

“Put down the knife,” he whispers in her ear, his low voice sending a shiver up her spine. “ _Baby_.”

For safety reasons, Betty is easily convinced to comply. She figures she probably shouldn’t be trusted with a knife for a minute, considering the way his whisper shot directly into her core. Jughead grips her shoulder with his hands and she turns around in his arms, though stubbornly looks away.

He gently grabs her chin and tries to get her to look him in the eye. “Your hands are all tomato-y,” Betty grumbles, though she gives in and stares into those deep-blue, concerned eyes that always make her melt.

“I like it,” he says. “No one’s ever called me ‘baby’ before.”

Betty blushes. “Me either. It just...slipped out.” She pauses, looking up at him, eyes pleading. “You’re sure you like it?”

“Yes,” Jughead insists. He leans forward and places a light kiss to her collarbone. “It turned me _on_.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Betty says, relief washing over her. “Noted.”

Jughead grins, giving her a long kiss. She pulls back when it deepens, patting his face lovingly. “Back to work, Jug.”

“See?” he says, backing away from her, hands held up in surrender. “You know what I like.” 

She giggles, turning back to the garlic. “Chop the onions when you’re done with the tomatoes.”

“Your wish is my command,” Jughead says, not for the first time. She feels powerful, also not for the first time.

The caponata is a success, and they even have leftovers to pack into Tupperware containers for a future meal. 

High on this streak of success, Betty pulls chocolate chips out of the cabinet and asks, “Jug, have you ever made edibles yourself before?”

He shakes his head, “Nope. You would think, given my love for weed and food, that I would have. But my lack of baking skills always won.” 

Betty laughs, handing him the bag of chocolate chips. “Me either,” she says. “However, I _do_ have baking skills.”

“And we have weed,” Jughead says, grinning. “Let’s try it! If nothing else, we’ll learn _one_ new skill in quarantine.”

Exactly three YouTube videos later, Betty and Jughead are mixing weed with butter on the stove, both laughing and hoping they’re doing this right. 

(They’d already baked the weed in the oven to “decarb” it before combining it with the butter. Ironically, Betty had asked Jughead to pack a bowl for her nerves while they waited.)

Once they’re pretty sure the concoction on the stovetop resembles what they’d seen on YouTube, they strain out the butter over the sink. 

“We did it!” Betty says, wiping sweat from her forehead. 

“What next?” Jughead asks.

“Well, now we just make brownies. But we use the weed butter,” Betty explains, and Jughead laughs.

“Duh,” he says. “I’m stoned.”

“Well, get used to it,” Betty says, laughing, as she pulls ingredients from the cabinet. “Grab the eggs?”

Jughead agrees. “I promise I won’t drop them this time.”

Betty laughs heartily at that as she places flour, cocoa powder, and sugar on the kitchen table. “Have you ever made brownies before?”

Jughead brings the eggs over, watching Betty as she gathers measuring cups and spoons from her drawer. “Does from a box count?”

Betty laughs, “ _No_.” But this feeling of warmth spreads through her chest, the same way it does any time Jughead says something that makes her think _ugh, I love this nerd so much._

She bites her lip as she returns to his side with a mixing bowl. “Follow my lead,” Betty says and when his eyes meet hers, they’re just as filled with desire.

They crack eggs, measure out sugar and wipe streaks of flour across each other’s faces. Jughead traps Betty against the table and kisses her, hard, and she finds herself moaning into his mouth before the oven beeps and they jump apart.

“Hands off till we get these in the oven,” she says, though she’s still flushed from their make-out.

Jughead pulls a face at her, though he returns to his spot at the table and finishes measuring out cocoa powder as most recently instructed. Betty pours the batter into the pan, offers Jughead the wooden spoon.

“Wanna lick the spoon?” she asks.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

Betty grins, daring to stick her tongue out. She slowly laps up the batter, delighted at Jughead’s turned-on expression.

“How long do the brownies have to bake?” Jughead asks.

Betty barely breathes out the answer—25 to 30 minutes—before Jughead has picked her up and placed her on the counter, pulling down her shorts and underwear in a definitive swoop. Jughead’s mouth is on her in seconds, and soon she’s gripping his hair, screaming out his name.

Two hours and three weed brownies later, Betty and Jughead can be found in their bed, alternating between fooling around and laughing uncontrollably at cat videos on YouTube. 

31\. 

**april 11, 2020**

Their natural clocks have both of them up early on a Saturday.

“Wow, I slept _amazingly_ ,” Betty says stretching out in the bed and turning to nestle into Jughead’s warm arms. 

He kisses the top of her head. “Mmm,” Jughead agrees. “Those edibles certainly did the trick.”

“Not bad for our first time,” Betty says, giggling.

She sighs, pushing back up on her elbows so she can peer out the window. “What time is it?” she asks. 

Jug sighs beside her. She can hear the telltale rustle as Jughead reaches for his phone on the nightstand. Betty continues to look out the window, at the one or two masked people on the sidewalk. “It’s 8 AM,” he says, his voice sleepy.

She turns back around and Jughead immediately moves to lay his head in Betty’s lap as he scrolls through his phone. “You know how I agreed to one walk a week?” Betty says, reaching down to run her hands through Jughead’s hair.

He nods. “Yes.”

“I think I want to go,” she says. Jughead puts his phone down to give Betty an incredulous look. 

“Like, now?” he clarifies. “At 8 AM?”

Betty shrugs. “After a cup of coffee and a shower, but yes!” She turns around to point out the window. “There’s barely anyone out there.”

Jughead’s face softens, and he pushes himself off Betty, though not without a bit of reluctance. “You make some points. Get in the shower, I’ll brew the coffee.”

Betty giggles, grabbing his face in her hands and kissing him hard on the mouth. “I love you,” she says before jumping up to grab a towel. 

“Love you too!” she hears Jughead call as she shuts the bathroom door behind her. It still makes her feel as giddy as it had the first time he said it.

“This is my kind of weather,” Jughead says when they leave Betty’s building an hour later, the first feel of cool air on their masked faces.

“What, the kind of weather that requires at least three layers?” Betty quips, laughing when Jughead pulls her closer to him and messes up her hair teasingly. 

“Stop calling me out,” he says, settling for holding her hand as they start walking the route they’d taken last time. (Indeed, Jughead’s wearing a t-shirt, a flannel, and a denim jacket as a complement to the sweatshirt and denim jacket Betty had thrown over her own top.)

This first early-morning sojourn proves a success. The neighborhood is significantly less populated at this time. When they reach the intersection where they’d typically take a right to head home, Betty tugs on Jughead’s hand to stop him in place. He looks over at her; she can see the question in his eyes despite the mask.

“Wanna go a little longer? There aren’t too many people out, and I’m enjoying this.”

Jughead nods, squeezing her hand. “Sounds good to me.”

They keep walking, resolving to loop back around toward home after another few blocks. Betty leads Jughead down one of her favorite blocks in the neighborhood, trees canopying the sky between the two parallel rows of brownstones. Betty spots budding flowers in front yards and on planters perched on stoops and it makes her smile. She has the weird thought, as they keep walking, that no one can tell when she smiles under this mask.

Jughead’s phone buzzes and he uses the hand he’s not using to hold Betty’s to swipe across the screen. “Ah,” Jughead says. “De Blasio announced in his morning briefing that public schools will officially remain closed through the end of the academic year.”

Betty frowns as they pass a brownstone with a couple finger paintings plastered up in the front window. She can’t even imagine what it would feel like to be a kid right now, to have to learn in your bedroom through a screen, to be unable to play with your friends so suddenly. 

Jughead seems to follow her eye-line because he says, “You could not _pay me_ to be a parent right now.”

Betty turns to him, nodding. “I _know_. I was thinking how hard it would be to _be_ a kid right now, but raising a kid during all of this? That’s pretty unimaginable too. Those parents are my heroes.”

Jughead squeezes her hand. “Of all the major life events we could have accidentally fallen into during quarantine, I think we picked the best.”

* * *

“I forgot how loud Trouble is,” Jughead says, laughing, after Betty takes a first whack at the popper. He’d been _very_ excited to spot the game under her bed when they got back from their walk earlier, and Betty had conceded they could play after dinner. They threw on the third _Harry Potter_ movie—“objectively the best” Jughead said, which made Betty kiss him—for some pleasant background noise. 

They sit cross-legged on the floor, the board game and bong between them on the coffee table. Betty is playing as yellow, Jughead blue. 

“Ugh, 4,” Betty grumbles. “Your turn.” (During their usual pre-game smack-talk slash sexually-charged flirting session, Jughead had made sure to remind Betty that he was solidly in the lead in their board game tournament.)

Jughead grins, rubbing his hands together dramatically before slamming down on the popper. It ends up being much more forceful than Betty’s had been and she widens her eyes, laughing. “And you said _you_ forgot how loud this game is?”

Jughead laughs. “It’s coming back to me now, actually.” 

“Oh, you’ve _got_ to be kidding me!” Betty says, both of them looking down to see the die had landed on a “6” for Jughead.

Jughead sticks his tongue out at Betty and moves one of his blue pegs out of home base. “Here I go again!” he calls teasingly before popping again. 

He rolls a 3, moving his peg and watching Betty concentrate hard before pressing her hands gently down on the popper. _2._

“Argh!” she yells and Jughead can’t help but laugh.

A few pops later, Betty has two of her pegs on the gameboard and is quickly gaining ground on Jughead’s three pegs that are only slightly ahead. He watches closely as she takes her turn, rolling a 6 with a careful pop. 

“ _Yes_ ,” she whispers, moving a third peg out of home base and taking her second pop. _4_. 

Jughead sighs, “Fuck.”

Betty smirks as she moves her yellow peg one, two, three, four spaces forward to replace one of Jughead’s blue pegs and send it back home.

“Is _this_ why you like this game so much?” Betty asks coyly. 

Jughead grins, resisting the urge to lean in completely to the flirtation and have his way with Betty on the coffee table instead. “That’s definitely one reason,” he says. “It’s always been kind of fun how one person can totally think they’re in the lead, but then someone else can get a stroke of luck and the entire game switches in an instant.”

Betty laughs, nodding. “Yeah, I see that.” She pauses before adding, “And the other reason?”

“Jellybean always loved this game,” he admits, sighing. “I...I didn’t actually _forget_ it was loud. If anything, I was making an...inside joke with myself.” Betty laughs. “We used to play it all the time when our parents fought for that very reason...that it was loud,” Jughead elaborates and Betty nods.

“Ah,” she says quietly. 

“Also, as an anxious, angry kid, I think JB found the sensation very satisfying,” Jughead says, taking his turn to punctuate his point. He moves one of his pegs three spots forward. 

“That was my favorite part as a kid too!” Betty says, taking her own turn and giggling as she rolls a 6 that releases her final peg from home base. “I hope we all get to play together someday.”

“Me too.”

Maybe it’s just because Jughead’s a complete introvert, but he can’t find himself ever getting tired of playing board games and watching movies with Betty Cooper.

32.

**april 12, 2020**

Jughead’s family never really celebrated Easter. They’d never been particularly religious, and FP and Gladys already had a hard enough time trying to produce a suitable family Christmas each year.

So Jughead is surprised and unfamiliar with Betty’s request to cook a big Easter meal while video chatting with Cheryl. 

“It’s the one thing about family holidays that I miss,” Betty explains. “Ever since Cheryl and I mostly broke from our family, we always spend these days together.”

Jughead kisses her forehead and envelopes Betty in a hug. The way she throws her body into it and leans into him, he can tell Betty needed it more than she was willing to admit.

And that’s how Jughead finds himself chopping onions once again, listening to Cheryl and Betty reminisce over Zoom about their late great aunt, apparently one of the only decent members of their family who would always cook the Easter meal when they were much younger.

“Wait,” Jughead says, bringing the bowl of chopped onions to Betty at the table and peering at Cheryl’s kitchen on the screen. “Are you two making the _exact same meal_?”

Betty shoots him a confused look. “You _just_ realized?”

Jughead blushes. “I don’t know. I was just vibing over there with the onions I guess…”

Betty and Cheryl both burst out laughing and Betty plants a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, Jug. Peppers next?”

Jughead nods, heading to the fridge as he hears Cheryl call, “It’s gonna be delicious, I promise! Best Easter meal of your life!”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Jughead says when he returns to his cutting board. 

Betty turns around to smile at him, her eyes lingering all over his body and sparkling with that special something she reserves just for him. He blows her a kiss, and she returns to laughing and stirring something over Zoom with her cousin. 

(All in all, it ends up being a more wholesome family holiday than Jughead has ever attended.)

33.

**april 13, 2020**

“Oh, Betty!” Jughead says, placing his coffee cup down with a clatter. Betty looks up from her laptop, face in a thin line. _He’s unusually chipper this morning._

“The $1,200 stimulus checks start going out this week!” he elaborates. _Ah._

“Oh, that’s good,” she says, attempting a smile and turning back to her computer, which has been trying to open a file for five minutes now. She sighs as the rainbow wheel of death spins before her on the screen.

“It’s only the beginning of what people need to be able to survive the economic depression that’s coming,” Jughead says across the table. “But of course, the right knows that everything they give during this time of crisis can be used against them later. Because guess what, people like socialism! They enjoy the idea of universal healthcare and housing guarantees!”

Betty wishes she could fully tune in to Jughead’s rant—she truly finds it incredibly sexy when he gets especially worked up about a social issue—but she’s seeing red. There’s something about these kinds of problems that always feel so beyond her control. And yet she doesn’t want to spin out over a computer problem in front of Jughead.

She can hear that Jughead’s still ranting about the stimulus bill but it feels fuzzy in the background. She takes a deep breath in, closes her eyes, and breathes out. Opening them, she calmly attempts to close out of the application. _I can try again_. 

“I just really hope this opens a lot of people’s eyes to why we need universal healthcare in this country,” Jughead is saying.

Betty clicks again and the rainbow wheel of death reappears. “ _Argh_!” she yells, slamming a fist down on the table.

Jughead raises his eyebrows, confused. “Sorry, not to you,” Betty says quickly. “Just annoyed because my computer’s acting up and I’ll need to call my IT guy, who I _don’t_ want to deal with right now.”

Jughead’s face morphs into sympathy. He stands up and walks behind her. “Want me to give it a shot?”

They try rebooting the computer, but she hits the same roadblock yet again when trying to open the file she’d received from one of their freelancers. “Ugh,” Jughead says, rubbing her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Betts.”

Betty sighs, kissing the hand he has resting on her shoulder. “It’s okay. Thanks for trying, Jug. I’ll grit my teeth and call Trev.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Jughead says, settling back into his seat and shooting her an encouraging smile before returning to his own work.

Betty smiles back, and dials the IT helpdesk extension, praying that Raj, the IT director who she _far_ prefers talking to over Trev, will somehow pick up.

But no such luck.

“ _Betty_! I’ve been hoping you’d call me one of these days. I miss you,” Trev says, his voice layered with meaning and Betty can’t believe there was ever a time she’d insisted to her co-workers that Trev just liked her as a friend. 

Maybe it’s because she didn’t want to acknowledge Trev’s crush; you know, the whole ‘if you don’t acknowledge it, it doesn’t exist’ kind of thing? Or maybe it’s because she now knows what it’s like to be absolutely adored by Jughead and that makes it easier to spot what she doesn’t want. Whatever it is, Trev’s voice creeps her out and she attempts the most professional and polite tone possible. 

“Hi, Trevor,” she says. “I was wondering if IT could check out my computer. I cannot open this file one of the freelancers sent me and I have a 5 PM deadline here.”

“Sure thing, Betty,” Trev says. She hears him typing and he sounds way too smug when he says, “I’m just gonna have to take over your computer.”

Betty must make a grossed-out face because Jughead shoots her a confused look across the table. And that’s when Betty has a _brilliant_ idea. 

She pushes the phone just a tiny bit to the side of her ear and says to Jug, “Baby, do you mind getting me some more coffee? It seems like I’ll be on the phone with IT for awhile.”

Jughead grins at her exaggerated _baby_ and pleading look, and she’s never loved him more. Because next, he says, louder than he needs to: “Your wish is my command, Betts.” He walks the long way to the coffeemaker so he can plant a kiss on her cheek. 

Betty can’t help but feel a little satisfied when Trev mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “when did she get a boyfriend?” under his breath, but otherwise remains silent for the next ten minutes as he finishes fixing her computer.

“Thanks for the help,” she says sweetly when he’s done.

“Yeah, see ya,” Trev says quickly before hanging up.

Jughead is watching her with a possessive look she’s never seen before. She doesn’t hate it.

“So,” Jughead says. “What exactly did we just do?”

“Finally shut down the IT guy who’s been flirting with me for a year?” Betty supplies.

Jughead wrinkles his nose. “That’s fucking gross. You should not have to deal with that nonsense at work.”

Betty smiles sadly at him. “I agree,” she says. “Ugh, plus, I could _never_ be attracted to Trev. He reminds me way too much of my high school boyfriend. Like, in the worst ways.” She shudders at the thought. 

Jughead blinks rapidly and Betty realizes she’s broken some unspoken rule they’d so far both followed: talking around but not quite _about_ their exes. 

“Oops. Are we doing this?” she says. “The whole dating history talk?”

Jughead shrugs. “Might as well get it over with, right? Mine is pretty short,” he says. “So I can go first, if you want.”

Betty nods, a little relieved. “Sure.”

“I didn’t do anything with anyone in high school, but I lost my virginity to a friend my freshman year of college. We both _thought_ we had crushes on each other, and it was fine, I guess? But we agreed afterwards we’d be better off as friends,” Jughead explains, and Betty nods. 

“I’ve only slept with one other girl besides you, an attractive English major who I had a couple classes with in my junior year of college. She pursued me at a party one night, so I went with it. I made out with a couple other girls while I was drunk at parties in college, too, but that’s...it.” Jughead looks nervous and Betty stands up, coming to sit in his lap. He smiles gratefully, looping his arms around Betty’s neck and playing with her hair.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever actually cared about like this,” he says, refusing to look in her eyes and she kisses the top of his head.

“I know,” she says. “For the record, same. Adam was my high school boyfriend. We dated for two years, had all our awkward firsts with each other. I decided to break up with him at the end of summer before college and he _screamed_ at me. Said awful things, called me names. I think it made it easier for me to realize that our relationship had never really been based on anything real.”

Jughead continues playing with her hair, and she maintains her grip on his shoulder. “He used to say he loved me sometimes, and I’d always avoid saying anything back. I just knew, even when I was seventeen, that whatever that was, it wasn’t love. But I hated going home so having a boyfriend to go see was...worth it, even if it wasn’t perfect. Does that make sense?”

Jughead nods, meeting her eyes. “It does,” he says. 

Betty nods. “And then, like you, I didn’t do anything serious in college—a couple one-night stands, went on a few dates here and there, but nothing led to anything. I’ve never _wanted_ it to lead to anything serious...until you.”

Jughead grins, reaching up and kissing her. “Thanks for telling me that.” He pauses. “Wait, what is it about Trev that reminds you of Adam?”

“Oh, right,” Betty says, laughing. “They look nothing alike, but they have the same annoying fucking voice.”

Jughead laughs into her chest, and Betty grips him harder, not in any hurry to get back to work.

34.

**april 14, 2020**

Jughead goes to get the mail in the morning and is pleasantly surprised to find a little package from Jellybean inside Betty’s mailbox.

“New masks are here!” he calls to Betty as he beelines for the sink to wash his hands.

“Yay!” Betty calls from the bedroom, still combing out her wet hair.

He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, ripping the package open and pulling out four cloth masks in different floral patterns. Betty puts on deodorant and throws on a t-shirt and shorts, coming to sit next to him and grabbing a green-and-blue mask out of his hand. 

“These are _beautiful_ ,” Betty says. She pulls the strings around her ears. “How do I look?”

Jughead smiles at her. “Super stylish.”

On their lunch hour, Jughead FaceTimes Jellybean, the camera pointing at Betty and Jughead wearing their masks.

“Yay, they came!” Jellybean says upon answering.

Jughead pulls his mask off. “Jellybean, I’d like to formally introduce you to Betty.” Betty quickly pulls her own mask off, smiling at the camera. “My girlfriend,” he adds.

“I know she’s your girlfriend, Jug, you don’t have to be weird,” Jellybean says and Betty laughs. “It’s good to finally meet you. What are you doing with my brother?”

Betty laughs. “It’s nice to meet you too. Jughead tells me a lot about you. We all have a lot in common...shitty real families and loving our found families and all that.”

Jellybean’s face softens immediately, and Jughead squeezes Betty’s shoulder. “I like this one,” Jellybean says.

The three of them talk extensively about the end of Bernie’s campaign and a documentary series they’d all watched. Then, Jellybean starts talking about a new recipe and Jughead is surprised to find that Betty has enthusiastic opinions on the topic. Soon, their lunch hour is close to over, and Jughead is the one who has to intervene to end the call.

“We have to do this again sometime soon!” Jellybean says. 

Jughead shoots Betty a beaming look when they hang up. “And you were worried she wouldn’t like you?” he says.

Betty grins, standing up and wrapping her arms around his waist. “Maybe...I was being anxious and irrational.”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Jughead agrees, reaching down and kissing her soundly. 

35.

**april 15, 2020**

“Ugh, I’m not in the mood for anything,” Jughead says, clicking through Netflix across the couch from Betty with a sigh.

It’s just after Betty’s therapy appointment, and she’s checking her balance as she compulsively does every time a co-pay is about to be deducted from her account. Betty looks up with a frown. “Pick something we haven’t seen that looks good,” she offers, trying to be optimistic. Jughead just grumbles and keeps scrolling.

Betty’s eyes widen as she scrolls down her bank account summary. “Holy shit, my $1,200 stimulus check already hit the bank!” Betty says, making Jughead look up from his mindless scrolling.

“Wow,” Jughead says. “Got it in the first week. You are one lucky duck, Betty Cooper.”

Betty adopts a prim accent and says, “Well, Forsythe, I _always_ file my taxes early.”

Jughead laughs. “I have no idea what that voice was, but it was horrifying and please never do it again, thanks.”

Betty giggles, swatting at his arm playfully. “Well, the government actually attempted to make up for the utter lack of a social safety net for once.”

“But, Betty,” Jughead says mockingly. “What _are_ you going to do with your stimulus check? Can poor people even be _trusted_ with money?”

Betty bursts out laughing. “No, but in all seriousness: I think I’m putting most of this in savings. Though, I do want to donate a portion of it to one of those funds for undocumented families, since they were excluded from the CARES Act and everything.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jughead says, turning back to the screen and continuing to click through the Netflix options. “When you find it, send me the link for when my check comes.”

“Will do,” Betty says, transferring money into her savings account on her bank app.

“Jesus Christ,” Jughead says.

“What?” Betty asks, barely looking up as she waits for the transaction to process.

“Did you know there was a _Tiger King_ after-show hosted by none other than _Joel McHale_?” Jughead asks incredulously.

Betty’s eyes shoot up, and sure enough, that little red “new episode” icon is sitting underneath _Tiger King_ in their feed. “But...that was so long ago,” she says. “Right?”

Jughead bites his lip. “Uh...I think it was like, late March? It’s April…” He checks his phone. “15.”

“No way. You’re sure it hasn’t been longer?”

Jughead shrugs. “Doesn’t feel real to me either.”

“Like, _Tiger King_ literally feels like old news to me,” Betty says, sort of shocked by the general concept of time at this point. “Pass me that bong?” She knows it’s still half-full. He happily complies.

“So,” Jughead says, cursor still hovering over _Tiger King_. “Do we want to watch Joel McHale interview these people?”

“Eeeek,” Betty says, and Jughead laughs. “I am so not in the mood to watch this right now,” Betty admits.

Jughead laughs. “Don’t worry about it. We have time.” And he keeps scrolling. And scrolling and scrolling. And scrolling. 

Betty makes him stop when she realizes it’s been ten full minutes of Jughead not being able to find something he’d be satisfied watching. She covers his hand holding the remote with her own. “What do you really want to do, Jug?”

Jughead shrugs, looking away from her a little bit. “I don’t know. I just feel...fucking _restless_.” 

Betty nods. “Do you want to do something with your hands?”

Jughead thinks for a couple seconds, playing with Betty’s fingers. “I think I need to write for a little while,” he says quietly, looking up at her guiltily. 

“That’s totally fine!” Betty says, reaching forward and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. He looks relieved.

“I’m kind of in the mood to craft anyway,” she says, laughing. “I could use an old favorite episode of _Gilmore Girls_ and some crafting out here if you want the kitchen or the bed.”

Jughead smiles. “I like being near you. I’ll take the kitchen table.” He kisses her soundly before getting up to grab his laptop.

Betty ventures into her room for craft supplies, happy to hear Jughead steadily typing when she returns to the living room to settle on the floor in front of the coffee table. 

“What to make?” she whispers to herself. 

The idea comes from somewhere naughty and mischievous inside herself. She grins, standing up again to grab the additional supplies to make this reality.

When they go to bed later that night, Betty casually drops an object in his lap. She makes sure to wait until he’s sitting in bed. 

Jughead’s eyes widen as he turns it over in his hand. “You made...a cootie catcher?” he asks, looking up at her with a goofy grin.

“Kind of,” she says. “You have to use it to help me with a very specific question.”

Jughead smirks, leaning forward. From the glint in his eye, she can tell he’s caught her drift.

“Jug, which sex toy should I buy using my stimulus check?”

“Betty Cooper, you are a vision.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shouts out to “Punisher,” the new Phoebe Bridgers album, for getting me to the end of this chapter!
> 
> Hope y’all enjoyed. Let me know what you thought; your comments make me happy during a very dark time (because leave it to my trash father to do yet another shitty thing in the midst of a pandemic, am I right?) 
> 
> Wash your hands, wear a mask when you’re outside, continue to socially distance. As much as we want to believe the pandemic is over, it ~isn’t~
> 
> Learn about abolition, protest if you feel comfortable doing so but make sure to take safety precautions, and donate to organizations led by black abolitionists and feminists who have already been in this struggle for decades! #BlackLivesMatter #AbolishThePolice #SayHerName
> 
> Kisses to you all!
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> Maria 
> 
> **  
> Links to articles discussed in this chapter:  
> **
> 
>  **** __ _The New York Times_ , A ‘Liberty’ Rebellion in Idaho Threatens to Undermine Coronavirus Orders  
> https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/07/us/coronavirus-idaho-bundy-patriot.html
> 
>  _The New York Times_ , Voting in Wisconsin During a Pandemic: Lines, Masks and Plenty of Fear https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/07/us/politics/wisconsin-election-coronavirus.html\
> 
> Read Bernie Sanders’s Full Speech on Ending His Campaign  
> https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/08/us/politics/bernie-sanders-concession-speech.html
> 
>  _The New York Times,_ Virus Is Twice as Deadly for Black and Latino People Than Whites in N.Y.C.  
> https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/08/nyregion/coronavirus-race-deaths.html
> 
>   
> _The New York Times,_ 41 Transit Workers Dead: Crisis Takes Staggering Toll on Subways  
> https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/08/nyregion/coronavirus-nyc-mta-subway.html


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